Lemon Tree
by FloraOne
Summary: Series of nsfw Usamamo short stories. Sexuality can be a very thrilling, and very frightening thing. And it's definitely a challenge. Sometimes canon, sometimes AU, sometimes in between.
1. Inch By Inch

Inch by Inch

A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series

* * *

 _So, here we are guys. I'm starting this very nsfw series. But, lemme get one thing straight: These aren't necessarily PWPs. This first one, for one, definitely isn't._

 _Sexuality is a powerful, interesting thing. As a plot device, and psychologically. And there is the tidbit that it plays a huge role in our contentment and happiness, whether or not we live it in a way that fits us individually._

 _So, I'm gonna play around with sex in this series. Sometimes it's gonna end up being sexy, but not always. I'm gonna explore it in canon and outside of it, in fully new AUs and probably even within already established fanfic universes. We'll see!_

 _One thing for sure, tough – you'll have to give me time with this series. This won't be a regular update, because writing smut is the most challenging thing out there. So, this will be updated whenever inspiration hits, and when I feel it's meaningful, and not on a schedule._

 _For this first one, I added an explanation in the end notes – where I'm coming from with this one. Because it's the answer to a long rant I ranted very rantily on tumblr ;)_

 _Let's just say so much: This is about Mamoru's sexual awakening._

* * *

He had always been a little… uptight with things. Definitely inhibited. Ashamed. A prude, he'd overheard Minako betitle him once, with Usako protesting his cause, as he joined them at the Fruit Parlor after a late class, and found them talking sex, only to pretend he hadn't heard.

And he was, he supposed. Way more uptight than any boy his age that he knew, anyway. Not that he'd know firsthand, though, of course – it wasn't the kind of topic he would ever talk about... To anyone.

And so, he could see how Usako would grow frustrated at one point, even when she would never ever say so, yet... he _was_ still a teenager, and however uncomfortable the topic made him, and however mortified he felt when showing even minimal affection in public… Inside (or when he just even closed his eyes, really) it was a different thing altogether.

He was _definitely_ not lacking in desire.

He just didn't know how to let go. How to not freeze even at the thought.

Like that one time, when they'd fallen asleep in the middle of the day on top of his comforter. They'd been together for so long at this point that it was second nature. He couldn't quite remember which enemy had attacked that day, only that they'd been so exhausted that sleep had lured them both in, even when he had papers to write and she exams to prepare for…

And he'd woken up with his hand cradling one of her breasts, his fingers clutching the thin fabric of her blouse, slipping across her skin, warm and soft even through the barrier.

He'd been beyond mortified. His heart had started hammering, even when his blood had decided to relocate in frightening speed, and yet he couldn't will his hand away. Even more so, when he'd discovered she'd been long awake, heartbeat hammering beneath his fingertips, pressing her legs together and her bum against him... and he _was_ a teenage boy, he couldn't deny it, and when she started grinding back against him, and her own hand had started wandering, he had to jump from the bed with a shuddered groan because he was hard and embarrassed and a fish out of water, and what the hell was he supposed to _do_ in these situations?

She hadn't said anything. Or more specifically, she's said a lot, but hadn't commented on the things that had petrified him so. She'd apologized, even when he saw the flush of her skin and the way she kept her knees together too tightly. Had told him it was alright, she wasn't asking anything, he had all the time he needed.

It had been absolutely what he'd needed to hear, and at the same time wasn't at all.

He'd assured her that he _wanted_ to… but he didn't know how.

She'd nodded, with a small smile. Had asked him if she was allowed to try.

He'd said yes, but please not right now, and she'd nodded and smiled and made him go out to the park with her instead. Somewhere public, somewhere where it was ok not to touch, and he was grateful and frustrated at the same time.

Because he wanted to touch her. He wanted to be enveloped by her. And he wanted so badly to know how to touch without feeling like this.

It was then that the dreams had started. Tormenting him night after night with tantalizing images of glorious golden hair spilling down her naked back and threading through his fingers, of his hands digging into her thighs and belly and breasts, of desire like a flood that shuddered through him as he pushed into from every angle possible, of words she whispered in his ears and that delicious, addictive feeling of losing himself in her that scared him so much.

He'd wake up with his erection already in his fist, and let go of it as if burned with a groan, only to hop into the shower and will it painfully away with the cold and shocking spray of water, because he didn't know what to do and he was so frightfully jealous of this person he was in his dreams.

This person, who could allow all these feelings in himself, who knew what to do, who wasn't him, even when he so desperately wanted to be him.

And how the next time – weeks later - that they had slept like this, and he lay spooned against her on top of his comforter like so many times before, yet it didn't feel natural anymore, he woke again with his hand where is wasn't supposed to be. And it was Usagi's hand that not only kept his in place, but lifted her shirt and slid his hand with a trembling touch into the fabric of her bra.

It felt as if his whole being were focused on the feel of the warm, soft, trembling flesh, and the beat of her hammering heart beneath his palm, and the sensation of her nipple hardening against his fingertips, and he had no time to jump and run, he came with a shudder, immediately, because it was too much and he wasn't used to it, and was mortified even when she gasped his name with that desperate hitch in her voice, when he finally jumped away too late.

She didn't comment, when he returned with a new set of PJs, and he breathed down her neck and held her in that way he usually did whenever he was so obviously frustrated with himself. She just took the hand that felt as if the feeling of her soft breast was scorched into it, and kissed his palm with the softest, gentlest touch of her lips, and he once again didn't know how he deserved her.

But afterwards – when those dreams in which he wasn't him, in which he could not only touch but kiss and lick and tease those rosy, soft peaks until she cried out for more, and he could give it – made him wake up rock hard and panting, and he fled into the shower like always, he didn't let the water take care of business.

It wasn't the first time he'd touched himself, obviously. It was also far from the first time he'd touched himself with her in his mind.

But it still held a lot of firsts, anyway. The first time he did it in uncomfortably bright light. The first time he didn't try to not do it. The first time he did it in a room where he could just glance across the small space and see himself do it in the reflection of his bathroom mirror, his fist pumping twitching, weeping flesh between his thighs as his breath came in labored puffs through stretched, tense lips. The first time he did it while she was in his apartment, sleeping in the next room.

And so he jerked off with her name on his lips and his mind where he swore not to go, but couldn't keep it from going anyway, and he came in a hot, white, exhilaratingly exquisite flash against the white tile, faster than he would ever admit - and it opened the door to repeat performances more often than not in the following months.

It _definitely_ wasn't the lack of desire. In fact, the longer this went on, the more he felt consumed by it. As if a switch in his brain had been flicked and now his entire being felt this intense hunger for something he did not know how to go about at all.

It was difficult for him, to say the least. He'd barely mastered not flinching anytime someone other than Usako hugged him. It felt weird – too intimate. A sort of contact he had never known, didn't know how to react. What was proper, what was not. He'd grown up avoiding any sort of bodily contact – a shield meant to protect him from two things; reminders of the fact that he had not known this sort of affection in his life, and his very physically embodied powers that had always done things with his touch that he hadn't known how to control for most of his life.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a hug. It wasn't that he'd not always yearned for one. And it wasn't either, that the prospect of getting physical with the woman that had filled his thoughts for not one but two lifetimes wasn't anything but thrilling – but it reminded him painfully of the head start that anyone else had in the department of intimacy.

Not to mention that he was fully aware of the fact that all the things he had learned about sexuality - secondhand and through society – and all the things a man was supposed to like and do and enjoy in bed, seemed somehow not to be exactly … respectful. Or stress-free, either.

He'd come to just the touch of her breast like a thirteen year old. How the hell was he supposed to last a night at the first try?

And although he knew she would be nothing but patient with him, the longer this dragged out, the higher the expectation must be, right? How could they not be? And with that, he got more stressed. To the point that even when he was rock hard whenever he continued touching himself in the showers, he no longer came.

Usagi didn't pressure him. Not at all. Not in the slightest. But when he once again ran in on them talking sex – or, more specific, masturbation – and heard Minako advertising her favorite brand of vibrator even when Usagi didn't let anything slip of what happened in his bedroom – or not – he grew so frustrated with himself he could barely breathe.

Why couldn't he just…

It was that evening, when she sat in his lap and the kisses grew heated, that he swallowed all his feelings of inadequacy and forced himself to touch her _there_ , rubbing tentatively across the fabric of her panties. Yet even as her eyes widened in surprise and desire, and her breath quickened and her nose scrunched up in that mesmerizing way like so… she ripped his hand away once her gaze flicked up to him and she saw the look in his eyes.

She cradled his face and whispered, even as she rained those soft, little Usagi kisses on his cheeks and forehead. That he didn't need to do this for her. She was ok. She wasn't asking anything. He had all the time in the world.

He shook his head, whispered back – he needed to learn how to touch. He wanted nothing more than to learn how to touch. He needed to give her this.

And when his hand snaked back down under her skirt and into her panties and spread the warm and soaking fluid across trembling, fluttering, slippery skin, as it coated his fingers more and more, it was the first time that he thought that maybe he could do this, as she came undone beneath his fingers, gasping wildly, hands clawing at his arm and into the fabric of his crisp and clean white button down shirt, and he watched her scrunch her face up in that incredibly sexy way that drove straight into him and made him rock against her, watched her shudder as she arched her back, watched the sweat pool in her collar bone just above the hem of her dress, even as her toes curled and he leaned over to catch the drop of moisture with his tongue.

Afterwards, when he held her as her breathing slowed, he felt like gloating. Proud in a way he had not known before, even when in the back of his mind that feeling of shame he was so well-acquainted with still lingered.

He shot it down, focused on the pride, the weird sense of victory in a battle he knew he waged only with himself, and the salty taste of her skin still on his lips, and asked if he could try something.

"Of course," she shot out, wide-eyed and expectant, before his trembling hands unbuckled his belt, wincing whenever his hands brushed against the very evident and very uncomfortably confined bulge in his pants.

But when he saw her eyes, so wide and expectant, glued to his hands, the way she bit her lip in anticipation… and it made him suddenly terrified of not pleasing her, of not… working.

The bulge disappeared with the jump in is heartbeat, and he swallowed thickly, unable to look her in the eye, when he pushed the flap of his belt back into the buckle and turned his back to her as he slumped with a heavy sigh on the foot of the bed, his hands finding his hair in frustration.

She picked up her mantra. _It's ok. We're ok. You have all the time you need._

But he flinched away, ashamed, when her hand touched his shoulder from behind him. And her voice hitched when he did.

"Tell me what I can do," she whispered to his back, and he swallowed.

There was nothing _she_ could do. This was his fault. He was the one who didn't know how to… who wasn't what… He shook his head.

"Is it me?" she asked in a small voice. "Do you not… I mean…"

He whirled around to her in shock. Appalled that she could even consider such a thing, and his heart broke when he saw how her arms had been slung around her knees, how she looked so small and unsure.

He crawled up the bed, sat next to her, but when he tried to talk he had to stop, and wrung his fingers in his lap.

He told her of the dreams, then. The tips of his ears growing hot and red he told her of what she did to him on a nightly basis. How sometimes, even when she was here, he'd sneak out into the shower and… what he did there.

He'd never stuttered so much in his life, never felt so much like burning, never felt so much like words were the wrong descriptors, and so many of them missing or…just too plain _weird_ and uncomfortable to use.

And even when he saw the way she pressed her knees together, once more, and her breath became erratic while he talked, he forced himself to go on. To share.

How terrified he was. Wasn't a man supposed to be… cool and on top of this? Wasn't he supposed to work? Like a confident, hard beast that could bend her over and do to her… what he was supposed to do? Wasn't this how it was supposed to work?

She'd took his hands then. Wrapped her soft, gentle fingers around his larger ones in a way that felt like a cocoon, and smiled that sad, little, confident and gentle smile he'd seen her use so often, when her heart went out to stray cats and pained friends and crying strangers and suffering enemies. A smile that was uniquely Usagi.

She told him that she didn't want something like that. She only wanted him.

They didn't have sex. Not for a while, anyway. But, due to her gentle patience and that compassionate smile, somehow, he'd had the guts so that they'd come closer and closer in tiny steps in his own hungry pace that still felt right but that got bigger and broader and exhilarating to the point where he clung himself to definitions and denial… Because, really, it _was_ sex when she moaned and writhed as you ate her dry, even if you never put your cock where it ached so hard to be, wasn't it? When you'd learned to make her come with just a flick of your teeth against her clit, of your precisely placed knuckles in her insides, through her clothes or with your lips coated in her essence. When the only barrier between the two of you was your own underwear, and when you'd learned to touch in many different ways that made her howl your name?

And how it was only in the beginning that he ground against the couch, as her thighs locked around his cheeks, pinning him in place, and he came into his pants, with an agonized whimper into her wet and dripping flesh, because it was all too much.

But it was that final barrier that took the longest to fall. That final step to truly and completely lay himself bare, both in the literal and metaphorical sense.

She'd stroked him through his pants at first, his erection jutting against her with every touch that made her giggle and the situation feel suddenly free, and later through his boxer briefs. She always asked first, and as much as the jut of fear whispered a no through his mind, the word was not in his vocabulary when her hands were against him, and he was thankful she kept within the line that he needed, but that he himself forgot in times like this where she would have only needed to ask and he would have been bare and inside of her within the moment.

But she knew him. And she knew when to ask and when not to. Knew when his mind was too absent to make decisions, and where his line was even when he forgot it, because he tended even to forget his own name at her touch. And so, the fabric barrier stayed even as he rocked his hips against her hand when she rubbed him through it in a way that made him lose his mind and will.

Or when it was no longer her hand that he rocked against, but her wet sex. And he could just make out her warmth through his fabric shield, and how her whimper turned needier with every upward flick, and the way he always choked around the frenzied torture that was feeling the way he slipped in just that little bit, fabric and all.

The way he pushed and pushed and she would buck back up, his tip twitching and causing him to scream when the fabric became coated in her wetness, but wouldn't give.

And how they both came with their cries swallowed in each other's mouths, humping against each other in starved rhythms, skin slipping against one another in the humid, August heat.

Until autumn brought dry air and their humping was not so dry anymore, and he finally slipped in for real – with a different barrier of the condom kind, and to the soundtrack of her relieved cry and trembling, fierce and guttural groans.

But it was a conversation in hushed tones one night that made that possible, and no touch.

When she'd asked him to talk through the fear and the shame one last time, and how she undressed in the dark silence, slowly, with her eyes never leaving his, but did not touch, to mirror the stripped feeling in his heart, when he had to speak of things he never learned to share.

And somehow she got him to talk, again, in a way that felt like vomiting all the scars on his heart.

How he, deep down, didn't feel like he deserved her. Didn't feel like he could ever do her justice.

And how it petrified him. How he had always been uptight, reserved, but this was so much worse. How, the moment he thought about sex, now, he was so sure he would not be enough. How it consumed his every thought.

And how every touch drove it home, made the fear lock down and spread until he could feel nothing else.

She'd swallowed and frowned at him in thought, sitting cross-legged in front of him in a way that suggested she'd completely forgotten how very naked she was, and that made his blush so much more intense while driving the point home how free she was with this and how tense he.

"But," she'd said, cocking her head to the side, baring her slender neck, "shouldn't you know best that touch is not for focusing on what's in yourself?"

He blinked at her. Didn't understand her at first, until he did.

His heart started hammering against his chest when he understood, and reached out to touch.

And how, for the first time since he'd started obsessing over this, he felt it again. The flutter of her emotions under his fingertips. Strong and tender and steady and for him.

How could he have forgotten that?

He sprang up on his legs, brought his other hand to her skin in a sudden, wondrous movement that made her giggle that light, airy whisper of vibrating air against his skin as he drove forward and stroked his cheek against hers, and felt the warm slip of her soft skin against his, felt the excitement and sunshine and longing that it whispered through his mind. All the tales her skin had to tell him.

He trembled when she took his hand and she pushed it lower, across the soft, pliant and utterly distracting curve of her belly, to the course curls beneath. Gasped when he felt the delirium she felt under his fingertips when he stroked across wet folds, the craving waves in her howling blood, once he allowed himself to connect.

It was so easy now to let his fear go. So easy now that he didn't forget that he could drown in her. That this was … more.

How could he have forgotten that?

And that intense love and acceptance that spoke through every stroke of her hand and every kiss she peppered on his neck and stomach and thigh.

How he felt it, suddenly. It was enough. He had all the time in the world. She was here, she was ok with this, she was content.

And how it hadn't been time at all, that he'd needed. But touch – without his fear whispering through his mind to taint it. How he suddenly did not need time when he had her.

And how he finally felt the electricity in between them, the need to feel more, make her feel more, not because he needed to reassure himself, not because he needed to prove something, not because he needed to succeed, but because he couldn't get enough.

The thrill of the intense need that fluttered like fog between them, coating them completely.

The rumble of his delirious moans when his barrier was no longer needed, the maddening need he suddenly felt for _more_. _More_.

How it could suddenly not come fast enough.

There had been no words, just looks and breathless nods and silent understanding when she'd bent over and snaked her hand into the pocket of her crumbled dress on the floor, producing the little foil packaging from it, and he needed to hiss the air through his teeth and scrunch his eyes shut when she rolled it on him, her fingers gliding, strong and sure and gripping, across twitching veins and pulsing skin.

How she'd bent backwards on the bed, hooded blue eyes never leaving his, and spread her legs.

The little nod, reassuring him, when his adam's apple bopped and his erection, too, and he felt her heat even through the condom, when he started rubbing himself against the wetness until she dug her fingers into his biceps and pulled at him even when she bucked her hips and arched her back and rolled her eyes back into her head.

She didn't demand, or tell him to finally finally, finally slip inside. She didn't say anything at all, even when he felt it screaming on her skin. She didn't say it, because she didn't ask anything of him. She only wanted what he was willing to give.

Yet her cry was more of a broken howl when he finally pushed inside. When he finally felt the exquisite agony of slipping home, stretching her out and filling her up, just to push back in, again and again, a little harder, a little _more_.

It had been a while until they'd finally had sex, indeed. But the wait made for the kind of raw, excessive and intense first night that he wouldn't have dared to hope for.

Though the first time he'd felt her lips around his tip was another story altogether.

* * *

 _So, why this story?_

 _I ranted on tumblr a while ago, how much I dislike it when Usagi is portrayed as sexually shy or timid. Because in my opinion, Usagi wouldn't be. This is a girl who knows to unapologetically indulge in the things that bring her joy. The girl who eats and sleeps with wanton, who falls asleep drooling over romantic and saucy shoujo manga. She would not be sorry about it – or shy or timid._

 _The person who would be timid and shy, though, in my opinion, is Mamoru._

 _Mamoru is an orphan, who has never known any sort of intimacy, who has even learned – through his abilities as an empath – to be wary of touch of all kind. Someone who has learned to shut it all out. Mamoru, not Usagi, would have a harder time to know what he wants, when he's ready for or not, and to identify his own sexual awakening, or much less handle it. (Not to mention the little tidbit in canon, even, that_ _his subconscious_ _his future self is literally terrifying him with dreams of all the bad things that will happen to Usagi should he touch her. Just sayin.)_

 _Anyway. Gender stereotypes have influenced a lot of how those two have been written in regards to sexuality or sexual prowess, if you will (in canon, as well), so… this story is aimed at that. This is Mamoru's sexual awakening, and his internal struggle._

 _Consent is definitely a big theme in this story, just note that obviously, consent is especially especially especially important in situations where it's not apparent if your partner is ready; and that it's not gender specific who has to give it and who has to ask. Normally, in stories with heterosexual pairings like this one, we portray consent as the guy checking in with the girl. But obviously, that can and needs to go the other way around when it's the girl making the first steps and the boy who's unsure. So, yeah, here it's she who has to tune and check in, and he who needs to be looked after. Of course, both parties need to look after each other, but foremost it's the one with the sexual agency, the one who's running the show and starting this jig, who has to make sure everything is still wanted. And as I said – I see Usagi as the one with the sexual agency in this relationship, at least in the beginning._

 _So yeah, granted, this little story passes the mark of "timid and shy" by a great ordeal, but, still fits him better, imo, than 'Mamoru The Porn Star', like we sometimes see him portrayed, anyway, no?_

 _So, anyway. I know giving feedback on a smutty story can be really weird. But I would still love to know what you think of this, and the overall series, and which themes you'd like to see me work through, and so here's a little reminder that FF allows you to review anonymously, if you don't want you name on smutty fanfiction!_


	2. Would You Like To Buy An O?

Would you like to buy an O?

A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series

* * *

 _Huge thanks to my bae-ta, Uglygreenjacket. You da best, girl._

 _So... lemme get some things straight, first. This will be the Teach Usagi Sex trope. But in my twist. And this will be neither Mamoru The Porn Star nor Usagi The Innocent Flower. This will, instead, be The Closing Of the Orgasm-Gap, which everyone of you who's been reading my tumblr for a while will know I'm pretty passionate about. And, this will be realistic sex. This will not be steel-rods and marathon romps, this will be the kind of sex that we all can have - the kind that makes female orgasms. Delicious, intense, female orgasms._

 _I wrote this for someone. You know who you are. Thank you for being so very open on this topic with me, for all your valuable input, and I hope this fic is all you imagined it to be. I poured every last ounce of knowledge I ever gained on the topic into this – be it through books, classes, feminist essays, courses or intervention congresses on the topic (which mostly always burns down to this: communication and self-exploration!) and gave it my own flavor. Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to do this for you, and trusting me with this!_

 _One last note on Mamoru's apartment: I'm going with the one room version, here. How it at least_ looked i _n the first arc of crystal (I know that changed by Infinity, and anime!Mamoru's apartment looked different all the time, too - but ALSO had his bed in that one big room) - anyway, y'know - big room and big windows and big bed at the end just by the window._

 _Oh, and also, AU setting, btw. But you guys know I like my AUs very close to canon ;)_

* * *

"I know a guy," had been Rei's offhanded words, as she'd gotten up and left the table, glossy, ridiculously perfect hair getting flicked behind her shoulder as she left.

Usagi's breath had stuck in her throat. She hadn't agreed to this, even when Minako and Mako-chan had both already whooped all around the table and spooked all the other patrons currently trying to eat their fluffy, ridiculously perfect pancakes in peace.

Now, different day, different restaurant, Usagi sat in the back of the darkly lit izakaya, her legs falling asleep under her butt on the plush tatami mat, as she wiggled her toes in her pink, ruffle-y rabbit socks that she wondered if they weren't too childish for... such an occasion, and tapped her hands nervously against her phone.

 _'_ _Be on time'_ , Rei's text, still open, read. Beneath that an address and the details to a table, reserved under her name.

What the hell had she agreed to, here?

She hadn't agreed to this, not really, and yet… for whatever reason, for what must have been only like, the third time in her twenty six year long life, Usagi had not only been on time, she had been half an hour early, and dressed in her chic, dark pencil skirt and that one, powder colored silk blouse - the one that hugged her skin in just the right spots, but wasn't too... She shook her head, exhaled forcibly, and checked the time.

7:56.

Her heart hammered against her ribs and she straightened up her spine involuntarily when the curtains of the entrance, far across the noisy room, were pushed aside and a tall man entered. Tailored suit, top buttons undone, cheeky smirk, white teeth, sexy… and her heart hammered some more.

Before deflating with a sigh and slumping shoulders, when he waved to a group of men off to the side, who greeted him with loud choruses of 'Kanpai!', and raised glasses of beer and Highballs.

She shook her head again. Squeezed her eyes shut. Who was she kidding? What was she doing here? What had she been THINKING, admitting at their weekly Sunday lunch together that she had never had an orgasm during sex, with Minako AND Rei at the table? How could she have been so stupid?

And then she jumped, startled, by a voice she would recognize anywhere, that washed over her like arrogant, condescending ... wait.

"Odango Atama,"

Her eyes whipped up, shocked, and met his dancing, smirking ones.

Her hands curled around her phone, ready to smash it into the innocent table, as if Rei's text could feel the pain.

" _'I know a guy'_?!" Usagi scoffed incredulously, eyebrows raised, too loud.

Mamoru's smirk faltered a little, as he knelt to remove his shoes, and stepped up onto the little platform.

Was this a joke? Usagi blinked. Was Rei pulling her leg? Setting her up with the _only_ guy who…

When Mamoru knelt on the tatami mat, folding his ridiculously long legs underneath the low table, Usagi was still too shocked to even yell at him. Or… you know, one of those things that she used to do when they were teenagers and riled each other up in the streets of Juuban.

He looked at her, those gorgeous dark blue eyes she'd first dreamt of when she was fifteen, and had to swallow.

He hadn't said anything, either, and it was getting uncomfortable, here in the loud, cheerfully crowded izakaya, as she stared dumbly at the one guy who had gotten away. Literally.

He swallowed, ran a hand through that obnoxiously silky hair like he used to do when he was nervous, swallowed, and raised a hand, shouting – moderately loudly, this place was packed – to get the waiter's attention, who rushed over to them immediately.

Usagi was still staring, looking intently at Mamoru's lips as he spoke, but not listening. Were they all being serious? Was Mamoru actually here to… to…?

She jerked up, mumbled another order – she needed _food_ , this was a _food_ kind of situation, and fast – when Mamoru's mentioning of her name startled her out of her thoughts and back to the waiter. A lanky, short but cute guy, a little younger than her, maybe, who rushed away as quickly as he came to get their order ready. Usagi didn't even really know what she'd asked to get.

Once he was gone, though, Mamoru's eyes – seemingly reluctantly? Why was he _here_ , then? – met hers, and he swallowed once more.

Usagi blinked when she realized she'd been glaring at him.

She shook her head, shook out of it, and resisted the urge to rub her hands across her face.

"Why are you here?" she asked instead.

Mamoru's instant blush at her question at least answered for him – even when he cleared his throat and obviously struggled to find an answer.

"I – I mean Rei called and said – said that – I mean, you…" He shook his head, broke off.

Usagi nodded, a little quickly, eyes a little wide. Right. Damn would she kill Rei next time she saw her.

She grabbed her glass a little tighter, suddenly wishing it was alcohol and not strawberry soda. "And you came?" she asked, and cringed at her choice of words.

His blush intensified and he shrugged, and she cursed the fact that it looked adorable.

So, she had babbled out at Sunday lunch, while Minako was talking bad sex experience and how awful the guy had been in bed and how she'd upped and left halfway through, that she had never had an orgasm during sex. And Rei just went and brought this info to the one guy she'd really fallen for during high school, the one that had taken her forever to get over, to come fix the situation? And he just _agreed_?

She frowned, ready to ask again, when the waiter arrived, and placed two double sized plates of yakitori and grilled mochi mochi cheese in front of her, and poured Sake from one of those rather tiny but ornate, green 330ml bottles into a small glass in front of Mamoru, overflowing it into the little wooden box, before placing the bottle on the table.

Her frown deepened. Figures. She should have ordered that, too.

"Why'd you agree to come?" she asked, once their waiter was out of earshot, a little breathlessly. The words came out, she had no control over them.

His eyes were startled. He blinked, his cheeks still that adorable rosy hue. His teeth brushed his lower lip before he spoke, just a moment, just briefly.

His eyes were just a little bit wide.

"I was your first kiss, wasn't I?" he said, and her heart stumbled over the reminder. "Seems only..." He cringed, apologetically. "Sorry that sounds..." He shook his head.

Her heart hammered. _Thump, thump, thump_ , right out of her chest.

It did seem... feel... right.

Mamoru took a rather long sip of his drink.

The group next to them, one empty table of a gap between – all in suits and costumes with loosened ties in what seemed to be an after-work get together – roared in laughter and upped their volume as someone shouted a boisterous story across the group that washed over both of them.

Usagi exhaled a shaky breath, grabbed a yakitori stick, and did the only thing she could think of. She excused herself to get to the bathroom.

Mamoru blinked at her, even when she was already getting up and away.

She felt a little comical, how she bit all the chicken pieces off the skewer all at once. Pushed it, in passing, into the little bamboo holders for them at the counter, and stomped, one frustrated chew per quick stride, into the little, darkly painted unisex bathroom behind the curtain, sat on the lowered toilet seat, and hacked into her phone.

 _WTF. Why would you set me up on a sex date with MAMORU-BAKA?!_ Usagi grunted when she pushed at the 'send' button.

To her surprise, her phone lit up right away.

 _It's an orgasm date. Not a sex date. Get back out there._

Usagi pretty much growled at her phone, as if Rei could hear it, and started cursing, before slumping back against the water canister.

Chiba Mamoru. Usagi sighed, closed her eyes, willed the one image back up that she'd tried to forget so many times, the one that had haunted her dreams.

Teasing, teasing, teasing – for _years_ , and then… And then _that_ night. Dangling feet over the rim of the fountain, _their_ fountain. The one she would always, so, so often, run into him at _their_ park, with the little clock tower in the middle. Water that slowly soaked the hem of her skirt, but it was a warm, humid night and he was there and she didn't care. When they'd sat and talked and teased and giggled, and they'd just... stayed, even when the moon came out, and her heart had pounded so hard when she'd admitted to herself why her blood started to boil whenever he was near, and why her very skin started to sizzle when he looked at her like... so.

And how … hours later, she'd scooted over a little closer, hammering heart and all, and slipped her hand into his on the not-so-cool-stone of the fountain. And how she'd slipped down, and into the fountain, and his hands were pressed to the back of her neck and his lips were on her.

They both got soaked, and she drowned. It had been her first kiss. Her best kiss.

He'd walked her home, hands trembling, not speaking.

The day afterwards she'd found out that he was leaving for Harvard. She'd cried for a day.

She hadn't answered the phone when he called. Walked past him when he stood in front of her school gates the day after that. She didn't go to his farewell party at the Crown, a month after that.

And then the years flew, because time was weird like that and she suddenly had to start wearing smart looking clothing for work, and he was back, and they pretended they barely knew each other. At least she did. She was in a relationship, when she'd first learned he'd returned, a couple years ago. And nothing ever happened between them but a first kiss and dreams of more that never were to be.

They'd passed orbits sometimes. Nodding to each other at parties they both attended. Sometimes he came up in conversation. She knew he did his residency in the same hospital Ami did. They were in the same study group, had been since their state exams. Once every few months he went for tea with Rei.

Rei was the only person in the world who knew – because Usagi had been so drunk at that one party the girls had thrown her to cheer her up, in her and Mina's apartment, after she'd broken up with her ex. The girls had all been asleep but Rei, and it had slipped out –

Rei was the only person in the world who knew it was Mamoru's face, and that kiss in the fountain, that she thought about whenever she touched herself.

Usagi exhaled, deeply. Bent forward and hung her head between her legs. Breathe in, breathe out.

Sex with Chiba Mamoru. It was the one sexual fantasy she knew she had. And even if she'd need a lifetime to get over him this time…

She inhaled, steeled her shoulders.

Mamoru's hand was back in his hair when she returned. He jumped, just a little bit, when she let herself drop back onto the tatami mat and reached for his glass in one movement.

It shook a little, and some of the Sake splashed onto the table when she took a big gulp of it and placed it back in front of him.

"Listen, Usagi," Mamoru had started to say. "If you don't—"

She interrupted him.

"Back in high school, Minako and I bought this book together," Usagi said, and Mamoru blinked. "It was called ' _The perfect lover: How you make him wild'_. We wrapped it in blank paper so no one would see what we read, so we could read it in turns while the others thought we were studying for our final exams."

Mamoru snorted softly and rolled his eyes, even when he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table so he could hear better, and Usagi could talk a little quieter, ears a pink tint.

"It was full of tips," Usagi continued, "on how to give the best blow jobs, how to get rid of your gag reflex, which yoga lessons to do so you could perform the weirdest positions, how to tone your body so you would look _irresistible_ for him, and which positions and things to avoid because they make you look less attractive. And we ate it all up."

Mamoru frowned, blinking a little.

"It didn't even occur to us how stupid it was to read a book on how to give guys good orgasms, instead of learning how to give ourselves good orgasms. We didn't question it," Usagi said. "And we bought more. Lots of glossy magazines for women that taught us in which underwear we would look sexiest for him, sex tips on how to be a 'sex goddess.'…" This time Usagi snorted, too. "There was this one article that promised the "hottest sex you will ever have" and it was something where you had to half kneel, half hover, and ignore the shaking muscles in your thighs. Next to it were fitness tips on how to train yourself to endure it better, and a chart on how many calories you would lose with it, and that it would be so worth it, because _he would_ _just love us for it_."

Mamoru's frown deepened, and he lifted his glass back to his lips for a long, slow sip, but said nothing.

Usagi picked a cheese mochi off her skewer, and ate it in one bite, chewing while she talked on. "The first time I had sex," she continued, mouth full, and blinked briefly as he stiffened a little, "I was so obsessed with thoughts of if I was doing this right, if I was performing the way I was supposed to, if my tongue was swirling the way it was meant to, if he was finding the lingerie I'd picked sexy enough, I was too busy to even register any feeling at all." Usagi shrugged. "It wasn't _bad_ , really. But it really wasn't good at all, either. It was… empty. It was…" she frowned, saw Mamoru swallow as she searched for a word.

"…a performance?" she finished with a cringe, and he nodded.

"Anyway," Usagi cleared her throat. "What I'm saying is… they don't exactly teach you to make this good for yourself, you know? And I didn't even notice at first. So it's no wonder I've never…" Usagi blushed "… you know…"

He nodded, rendered a little mute, cheeks red.

She cleared her throat again. Popped another mochi cheese ball into her mouth, the comforting, calming company of food, and continued talking, even redder.

"It's totally fine on my own, at least now. You know, once I actually started … on my own?" She mumbled under her breath, and he swallowed and nodded, a little choked. "But… during sex? I've tried… I don't know. Maybe my clit is broken? Maybe I'm having sex with the wrong gender? I'm…"

Usagi exhaled and shrugged. "I've tried... I've had … dates that landed in bed, here and there, and one long relationship – as you know," she said, and he nodded, even when it seemed a little forced.

"Did he know?" he interrupted her. She lifted her head.

"What, that I never came?" she asked under her breath, ears burning.

His blush intensified, but he held her gaze for a little moment of uncomfortable silence. "Did you fake?"

She pressed her lips together, rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, yeah. Of course I did."

Mamoru blinked, and Usagi flushed when he cocked his head sideways, and his hair fell a little into his eyes as he talked. "Of course you did?" he repeated.

Usagi rolled her eyes again, and sat back onto the heels of her feet. "You wouldn't understand," she said. "I mean… everyone fakes, right?"

He raised his eyebrows. "How would he begin to understand the extent of the problem if you fake?"

Usagi's eyebrows scrunched together in a glare, and Mamoru swallowed. "Oh c'mon," she said, shaking her head at him as if he were being dense. And for once, he was. "He felt horrible, every time. If I didn't fake at least sometimes, he would feel like a failure. Doubted himself, made this all about…"

"Him?" he interrupted.

Usagi blinked, cringed apologetically. "Kinda…" she mumbled.

He exhaled, but said nothing.

Usagi sighed, propped her elbow up on the table and rested her chin in her palm, while picking the rest of the mochi cheese balls off the skewers to pop them in one after the other. "It's just…" she frowned, shot Mamoru a look. "You guys are so FRAGILE in this regard…"

" _'_ _Us guys'_?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.

" _Men_ ," Usagi said, and Mamoru's eyebrows rose higher. "At least, y'know, every man I've had sex with. It's like…it's like... all your pride and self-worth depends on whether you're good in bed."

Her voice rose a little, and she noticed several of the heads at the table nearby turn, and lowered her voice to a hiss instead, but continued.

"And, and… if I just say _a little thing_ you're all ..." she frowned, thinking "…indignant and… don't even really try, just do more of what you already did … and then it's all on me. And I mean…. If he doesn't want to anymore, and I know that I'm not gonna come anyway, not like this, and I mean… I _do_ have a vibrator you know, which works every time, so… why bother?" Usagi huffed. She knew she was making little sense, she was jumping too fast. But…

She took a deep breath. "And I close up too, you know? All that concentration, all that trying to loosen all my muscles as the internet says I'm supposed to do to relax, the deep breaths down to the core, the… trying to imagine sexy scenes…" she slowed down and broke off, swallowing, blushing again. She hadn't meant to let _that_ slip.

Mamoru frowned. "You imagine you're somewhere else during sex?" he asked.

She blushed.

Mamoru blushed, cleared his throat. "With _someone_ else?"

Her cheeks burned again, and she shrugged awkwardly and cursed her voice for being somewhat raw when she answered, "Whatever helps?"

He just looked at her, with those intense blue eyes that she imagined all too often in those instances, and she knew she was blushing even harder, even when she hated that she did. Well, it wasn't like he knew, right?

"And did it?" he asked.

Usagi blinked. She had to remember what he meant, she'd been too distracted. But then she did, and sighed.

"No," she said with another slow, somewhat defeated shrug. "I'm always super tense and trying too hard. Not relaxed at all. And then when I did try to talk about it… he was super tense as well, and not coming anymore, either, as if I'm contagious in my non-orgasms."

He chuckled at her choice of words and his eyes widened when she glared at him for it. But then he nodded, and somehow, suddenly, his shoulders lost their tenseness, and he started talking. About the nervous system, and models of arousal, and mediators, and… she didn't follow.

"— traditional model of the female sexual response says that you'd need activation in the parasympathetic nervous system to get aroused in the first place, but nowadays neurologists found that sympathetic activation is needed to—"

Usagi lifted her hands, crossed them, and started laughing. "What, are you a sexpert now, too?"

He blushed. "No, but I'm a doctor. And I'm trying to explain the neurological processes behind orgasms."

She grabbed her soda, amused, waved her wrist at him with her other hand, rolling her hand once around, in a 'go ahead' gesture.

And the tenseness was back in his shoulder, when he rolled them awkwardly and raked those sinew-y, long fingers back through his inky hair.

"It's like this," he started, voice a little low.

"If your body is alarmed – be it through too intense nervousness, or fear, or y'know, apprehension, then your nervous system will activate all bodily reactions it needs for survival. But at the same time shuts everything down that's not required for survival. Like arousal," he said, gesticulating somewhat awkwardly and it made Usagi smile.

"So you're saying too that I should relax, or I won't get wet," she said, and he swallowed.

But he held her eyes, and inclined his head. "It's the traditional model. It's not completely disregarded, but the newer models actually say that for women a little 'thrill', if not needed for arousal, is what's needed to actually come. But the evidence on that is still a little mixed."

Usagi frowned. "So, you're saying science has no clue how women come?"

"No, they do! But they're saying the female orgasm is way more complicated than the male one is," he said, voice a little raspy.

Usagi rolled her eyes and snorted. "And they needed science to figure that out?"

Mamoru chuckled at that – the low, sexy rumble of his voice that she remembered all too well from her teenage years – and he grabbed at the tiny green bottle still on the table to refill his little glass, before winking at her.

Usagi cursed the small throb it caused in her, and she cleared her throat, and nodded at his drink.

"Are you planning to get drunk?" she asked. It was a rather forward question, especially with a bottle so small, but the thought that the prospect of sex with her was something he needed a drink for was kind of… disconcerting.

"No," he said directly, vehemently.

Usagi frowned.

He threw her a look, before he spoke. His eyes didn't waver from hers. "To be honest, I'm planning to get a little courage."

Her heart skipped a beat, and her voice was a little breathless when she spoke.

"For what?"

He shrugged. "For being honest. And forward. And good enough."

Usagi blinked, completely taken aback. " _'Good enough'_?!"

He threw her a little smile and a shrug, and clinked his glass against her soda glass, but didn't elaborate.

Good enough? Did he think he wasn't… or that she was… Usagi inhaled sharply. And… for being honest…?

"Why did you agree to this?" she asked again, in a whisper, and almost held her breath.

His eyes stayed on hers, but the sip he took on his glass was a little longer.

When he set it back on the table, he closed his eyes, tightly squeezed shut, before they landed back on her.

"Because you're the only one I was ever in love with."

She nearly choked on her soda, but Mamoru held her eyes. Steady, all cards on the table, while her brain fired.

It was really silly, of all the things she could have asked… When? Why did you not tell me? Are you _kidding me_? …Or even, guess what, me too. Or… Why did you leave, back then? Why did you not try harder, then?

The thing that came out of her mouth was, " _Was_?"

He shrugged again.

Her head went on speed dial. Her heart hammered. "Why did you never..." but she trailed off, didn't have the guts to say more.

He shook his head, only a little, and his eyebrows scrunched together.

But, weirdly, it was more than enough to realize she'd long made up her mind.

"Ok," Usagi whispered.

He blinked. "Ok, what?"

"Ok," she breathed. "Let's do this. Let's have sex."

His eyes widened, and Usagi's courage faltered a little.

"I mean… only if you want..."

He reached across the table for the little bottle, and topped his still pretty much filled glass up, before filling her now empty soda glass half-way with his liquid courage, as well.

Only then did he meet her eyes. "Tell me why it's never worked," he said.

Huh? Usagi blinked, confused.

"What did they do wrong?" he said, holding her gaze.

There it was again, that little throb. Usagi flushed a little, and knit her brows together. What _did_ they do wrong? She knew they'd always tried. Rubbing where they assumed it felt good, fondling where they'd thought it was right.

It took Usagi a moment to answer. It wasn't anything she'd really ever thought about, and she frowned all the way through her response because of it.

"They…" she started, thinking. "They never… asked?"

Then she shook her head. "Sorry, that's probably not a really helpful answer."

He shook his head vehemently. "What do you mean with that?" he whispered, and she leaned a little closer.

Suddenly she was very aware of the fact they were in a crowded public place.

She cleared her throat. "What I liked. They didn't ask. They assumed, instead." Then she frowned. "But probably because…"

"Because?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's weird to ask. You're admitting you don't know what you're doing. I get that that's a hard thing to do. And I mean…" she swallowed. "I didn't tell them, exactly, either, that for one I prefer two fingers instead of…" she blushed, trailed off. "Or you know, what I like."

"What _do_ you like?" he asked, immediately, a little breathless.

Usagi felt her heartbeat through her chest, in her ears, in the tips of her fingers when she took a sip of his drink. It was surprisingly sweet for a rice wine, and sadly not at all potent. She hadn't noticed when she'd taken a sip of his glass, earlier.

She shook her head just a little. "Are we really having this conversation?" she asked with a snort.

He rolled his shoulder, gave her a small smile, and she shook her head again and envied him a little. Sure, he blushed a lot. But the way he sat there was utterly composed, while her fingers shook around her glass.

"How can you be so calm with this?" she asked.

He blushed. Raised his glass for her and cleared his throat. "If it makes you comfortable, full disclosure, I'm shaking," he said.

She raised an eyebrow, made a point to look at his very still, very calm hands.

He chuckled, and his eyebrow twitched as he held her gaze. "But I'm also a surgeon, and have needed to learn to be completely able to work, and to not let it take me over when I'm nervous."

"You're nervous?" She whispered.

"Very." His voice was low, almost inaudible over the noise.

She bit her lip, talking right over her wildly beating heart.

"Why?" she whispered back.

"You," he answered, with a newly returned blush.

She looked at him, put all the 'Why' she had in herself into her eyes.

His blush deepened. "I told you why…"

Her heart thundered in her ears. "You said ' _was'_."

He sat back, held her eyes, but didn't answer. She was ready to smack him, when he leaned forward again, and asked.

"When you do it on your own…What works?"

She flushed. Back to business, it seemed.

"Do you have any fantasies?" he asked with a slight, embarrassed break in his voice that she didn't fail to miss and it made her smile even when the question mortified her.

 _My only real fantasy is you._

That's not the kinda thing you answer, right?

"I don't …" She swallowed. "Not really. At least not…" she broke off, flushed to the roots, and he took pity on her, and didn't pry.

"Do you?" she asked, instead.

He swallowed.

"I do," he said after a moment, and her shoulders slumped in relief that she didn't have to reveal her embarrassing secret after all.

"Tell me about it," she said, and felt a little pride in how she was immediately more relaxed.

He swallowed before he started to talk. And the moment he did, her heart felt like it stopped.

"We're back in the fountain," he started, and her hands immediately start to tremble. "And you push me into the water down with you, just like you did, and your lips—" he exhaled, his eyes unsure, licked his lips and pressed them together. But he continued after a small break, and a whimper from her lips. "Your lips open, just like they did, and I drown in your taste and moan into your mouth, and my hands slip into your hair."

She gripped her glass a little harder, and his eyes flew to her hands.

"Go on," she whispered.

His eyes flick back up to hers, and his lips open a little, as he exhaled, deeply. "And then I break off the kiss, but instead of… what we really did, you press me back down, and you take off your shirt, and then…"

"And then?" she asked. Too urgent, too breathless.

He licks his lips again, and her eyes are glued to his mouth. "You start to undress me, shirt first, and I get to lick the water off your chest while you pull down my pants. And you reach under your skirt – the pleated, navy school skirt of your high school uniform that you wore that night – and you leave it on, but you remove your panties, and…" his voice broke, and he exhaled. "And then you kneel over me, and take my hand, and slip it underneath your skirt, and…"

He broke off for real then, and his eyes left hers, and he took a chug of his drink.

But his words travelled straight between her legs, and she grabbed the little slip of paper that was their current bill from underneath his Sake bottle, and before he even registered what was happening, she was at the front of the restaurant, paying, and back to grab her purse, and his hand.

"Let's do this, then," she whispers, threading her fingers through his, and he jerks alive, and rushes them out, leaving half full glasses and the remnants of her food disregarded on the table, and it's minutes later that her hair trails behind her in the wind, and her thighs lock around him, and her fingers stretch across his stomach, and he drives them through nighttime Juuban to his apartment.

It was exhilarating. The roar of the engine in her ears and vibrating beneath her legs. The cocooned feeling of the slightly too large spare helmet, the feeling of being pressed against him so thoroughly, arms tightly clasped around him, and she found herself trying to push herself forever closer, as her home district rushed by her.

It was in itself something she had secretly always dreamed of – climbing up behind him on this motorcycle, getting that legitimate excuse to crush herself against him with all she had. Whenever she'd seen him (way back when and even only recently) rush by on his bike, she'd licked her lips and imagined what it would be like.

Tokyo was a big place, but Juuban wasn't at all. Not a week went by sometimes without at least seeing glimpses of his shiny motorcycle cross a street, turn a corner. She didn't look, mostly. On her way from or to the metro station that took her along the main street that he so often took on his rides. But she always found her senses tune in on the sounds of motorcycles in general because of him. Reaching out without daring to look, and then looking after all, and cursing herself when it wasn't him, and cursing herself when it was him, too.

And now it was happening. And not only this… Her heart couldn't keep up, really. It rushed in her ears almost louder than the roar of the ride. And it stayed even when she felt the muscles in Mamoru's thighs flex and the bike slow down, as they approached a grayish apartment complex on the fringes of Juuban that she dimly recognized from when she'd been here once, when she was 16, with a silly excuse to drop off a book Ami had borrowed, and got invited in for the most uncomfortable, awkward tea she'd ever had, weeks before that kiss.

She felt her body involuntarily move with him, almost disappointed, when the bike stopped and he lifted himself up and off the bike, removing his helmet in one move.

His eyes found hers, and he licked his lips, just ever so slightly, when she still sat on his bike and he stood in front of it. He closed the gap between them, and her breath caught when his fingers found the clasp of his spare helmet, and he lifted it off her head, his eyes never leaving hers, but not saying anything.

And just like the last time it was her that made the move, when she clawed her fingers into the button border of his ever-so-fancy grey dress shirt, and pulled.

She dimly registered the helmets simply clatter to the ground, when his fingers pushed into her hair, slightly messy from the ride, and his lips connected with hers. Soft, warm, _Mamoru_.

She sighed into the kiss, opened her mouth immediately, impatient, and he moaned when his tongue brushed against hers – ever so lightly, ever so tentatively – and the grip in her hair got a little stronger, and her own mouth a little more insistent, as she wound her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself up against him.

It was almost better than she remembered.

She ground herself against him, half hovering off the bike, felt it wobbling dangerously beneath her as she tried to deepen the kiss even more, taste even more. But his hands slipped from her hair and to her cheeks – those strong fingers so very, very gentle – and his thumbs stroked against her skin even as his mouth closed, and his soft lips brushed against hers calmly, lovingly, before he retreated, and she once again moved with him, reluctant to let go.

His eyes were wide when she opened hers again. He didn't say anything, still, just held out his hand to help her off his bike.

She took it, swallowing thickly, threading her fingers through his.

He didn't let go of her hand, even when he fumbled for his keys, or pushed the button for the elevator. Even when the silence became thick when they stood and looked at their feet, and she felt his hands begin to tremble, when neither one said anything, and her heart pounded out of her chest because _this was it_. This was happening. _Now_.

He only let go from her hand when he opened the door to his apartment for her, and motioned for her to enter before him, eyes still wide, adam's apple bopping.

She felt the soft click of his shutting door as if it vibrated right through her.

Her heart had already been beating in a rhythm that pounded in her ears. Now it was speeding up, causing her hands to tremble slightly and her breath to hitch.

She stumbled a bit over her own feet in the narrow genkan, not daring to look back at him, but even clumsier than usual due to both her nervousness and the darkness.

He hadn't turned on the lights. Yet, the moon shone dimly from the big room up front, shrouding them both in mostly shadows.

She slipped out of her shoes, her breathing feeling too loud in the dark, silent apartment, and her skin vibrated, almost, knowing he was right behind her, knowing he'd… they'd…

There was a hollow thud on the wooden floor when he stepped up from the genkan, and stopped right behind her. She sucked in her breath when his front brushed her back ever so slightly, and she felt him bend behind her, just barely.

She almost jumped when she felt his hands settle around her waist, slipping against the soft fabric. Felt his mouth against the shell of her ear, his breath and voice against her neck when he whispered.

"Is this ok?"

She blushed at the way her nod was so quick, so breathless, so desperate, almost, and she breathed a mumbled, "uhuh", just for clarity. Embarrassed how he hadn't even done anything, and she already felt like pressing her knees together. But the situation… there was something about this.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear and she bit her lip, as she complied, immediately.

She could feel the tremble in his hands, when his hands around her waist started to move, tugging on the fabric of her blouse, pulling it from her skirt, and slip beneath. It gave her a slight thrill, knowing he was shaking, too. That this was affecting him, too.

She exhaled. It was a little shaky, and her belly jumped when his fingertips slipped against it.

His hands were a little cold. A little clammy. And they moved tentatively, as if he really dared not to touch her, it was feather-light. Yet they scorched her skin, and she found herself holding her breath.

His hands were slipping higher, lifting her blouse in the process, his grip a little fuller, and she felt his shaky breath against her neck, when she arched her back to meet his hands full on, and she lifted her trembling arms above her head.

'This blouse can go now', her stance said. And she squeezed her eyes a little more tightly shut, when, with one barely audibly groan coming from his lips, his hands slipped across the lacy fabric of her bra. They hovered there, just a moment, his fingers twitching over the fabric, and she felt her naked back brush against the fabric of his silky button-down, heaving from labored breathing, before his fingers curled into the fabric of her blouse and he lifted it off her body. With a quick whoosh, her head was tangled in it, her sight growing even darker behind closed eyes.

And then it moved across her hair, and she heard the fabric settle on the floor.

It was his exhaling that she heard through the silence this time. And her own that joined soon after. Her skin exploded in goosebumps, even when it wasn't cold, even when his hands weren't even on her, but she knew his eyes to be. It was a moment that took just that little bit too long – and he stepped back up behind her, and this time she could feel the bulge that had formed in his pants press against the fabric of her skirt.

"More?" he asked, his voice just a hush against her ear, and she could only nod that fervent, impatient, mute nod again.

And then his hands were back, trembling even harder than before, and she felt a finger slip beneath the back of her bra, and his breath against the top of her spine when it came free.

She rolled her shoulders, moving to get it off, when his hands gripped her arms, stopping her.

"Not so fast," he whispered, urgently, and it pooled between her legs, the way his voice was raspy, on the brink of control.

Instead, his fingers moved – his touch still so, so light – to her shoulders, beneath the straps, and with the softest touch, moved them down and off her arms, until her bra simply fell from her and onto the floor. And even though her eyes were still closed, she knew of course that she was standing topless in his dark hallway, when he was still fully clothed.

And then she had to bite her lip again, when he was still not touching her, not really, and instead his hands moved higher, and into her hair, and with a few tugs, and a few light thuds of bobby pins that met the fate of her bra on his cold wooden floor, she felt her hair tumble down across her back, and him shudder audibly.

His hands wound into her hair, then. And his voice broke in a little groan that travelled through her like lightning, and for the first time she got it – all the years of teasing, of calling her that name. It all coalesced into this one, strangled breaking of his voice.

He was really, really into her hair.

The revelation burned between her legs. That thought that maybe, maybe it was right. That he'd been dreaming about her as much as she'd been dreaming about him.

She opened her eyes, then. They adjusted quickly to the dark, and she could see into the big, single room in front of her. The big bed, the dark sheets, the blinking lights of Tokyo Tower shining in through the grand windows – curtains fully open. It looked exactly like the one time she'd been here, years and years ago.

She took a few steps, without even thinking. Her girly, silly, frilly socks created almost no sound on the hard, cold floor, and she felt her hair glide through his fingers as she walked into the room on slightly shaky legs. Passed by the bed, her fingers absentmindedly gliding along the dark, silk sheets, and stopped in front of his majestic view.

You could see almost all of Minato, this high up.

Boldened by the knowledge that she was standing in the dark, and that she could see but they could not, she brought a hand up to the glass of the tall window, and stood half-naked over Tokyo.

She heard the shaky intake of his breath, when he stopped behind her.

"What do you want?" he asked, voice low and hitching.

Her fingers curled against the glass, and she felt the warm puff of her own breath reflected back against her lips by the wall of glass in front of her, when she spoke.

"I want you to touch me," she said, still facing for what might just be all of Tokyo to her. Her voice was strong, much stronger than his, and it felt bold, scandalous, almost, even when she knew this was what she was here for.

He stepped closer, and once again she could feel the slip of his shirt as it connected to her naked back, and his hands once more settle on her hips – naked now, along the seam of her skirt. But, to the frustrated rumble in her belly, his hands slipped higher, not lower.

But she gasped nevertheless when his fingers ran, ever so lightly, along the skin just below her breasts, stroking back and forth, back and forth – and her voice came out a little strangled, when one hand reached up and grasped one nipple, rolling it between his fingers almost delicately, and it puckered up almost instantly.

She moaned, deep and almost pained, and arched back into him. Moaned even louder, when he pressed back, and she felt her chest connect to the cold glass, and her ass to his cock.

Her breathing sped up. It would be so easy. So absolutely easy, and the thought thrilled her. If he'd just flip up her skirt, lower his zipper, move her panties aside, and fuck her into this window, breasts pressed against Tokyo.

He didn't, of course. He was nothing if not tentative. And she didn't voice the thought.

"What do you want?" he breathed against her neck, once again, and she groaned, biting her lip.

 _I want you to fuck me. I want you to bend me over and thrust until you can't._

She didn't say this, of course. Part of the problem, she supposed. Instead she said, again, and it frustrated her immensely this time, "I want you to touch me."

The weight against her back lifted, ever so slightly, as he bent his face towards her ear and whispered, "Show me."

Her eyes widened, just a little, and met his, when she turned in her spot. Latched straight onto those blue, piercing eyes, so near to her face, and licked her lips.

She brought her hands up to his collar, then. Loosened the first few buttons with quick but trembling fingers, felt his adam's apple bob against her fingertips as he swallowed deeply and brought his hands up to still her movements.

How can his hands be so gentle, was her only thought, as his thumbs stroked her palms and his cheek slipped against hers as he leaned in to whisper once again.

"Not on me," he said.

It was her time to swallow, when her eyes once again found his.

 _Oh._

His face was all blush, even when his eyes were strong, and she felt the thrill of it all flutter in her chest and her gut when she, without breaking his gaze, reached one hand beneath her skirt, and dragged her panties down her legs with just her thumb hooked into them.

His breath hitched with the almost noiseless sound of her panties hitting his shiny floors, and her heart hammered against her chest, when his legs gave way, and he lowered himself to his knees in front of her, top buttons now undone, and stroked his hands from her knees up her thighs. His grip was stronger now, pressing into her flesh, her skin moving under his fingers, as he lifted her skirt in order to be able to _see_.

Her fingers shook, and yet, she was not at all surprised to find she was wet in a way she hadn't been in a long, long time, when her back fell back against the cold glass behind her, and her middle and index fingers slipped in practiced, blind movements between her folds, collecting moisture to spread where it felt good.

And oh god, the thrill, the way his lips were slightly open, his fist kneading into the fabric of her skirt, the other into the fabric of his pants. The way he shifted, slightly, closer, eyes glued to her fingers. The way she saw his bulge twitch in his pants, her eyes straying, straying to his crotch with every movement.

"You, too," she felt her voice rush out, breathless, without thinking.

He flushed an even deeper red, his eyes flicking up to hers, away from her fingers even when she saw his eyes flit back to them and back up to her eyes, and this tongue slipped out, just briefly, to press against his lips and the raging war behind his eyes. A war that was obviously won in her favor, when his eyes jumped back to the movements of her fingers, but his own hand slipped down to undo the shiny silver buckle of his belt, rip it from his pants, and blindly flung it behind him, before he lowered his zipper and reached inside.

"No," she groaned. "Let me see."

She groaned against the desire that rushed through her, flooding her fingers, when his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and his eyes went up to the ceiling as he steeled himself for what was obviously very embarrassing to him, and yet very, very hot. But then he ripped at the button of his pants, and it shifted down his form just slightly, baring his cock to her eyes, hard and veiny and red and thick in his fist, and her fingers got slicker still.

It was easily the most erotic situation she'd ever been in, easily the most erotic situation she'd even ever thought about, and her breath came quicker and she felt her insides spasm just that little bit, with a shudder that ran through her, at the sight Mamoru made – breathing harshly through his clenched teeth, eyes transfixed to the movement of her fingers moving in slow but ferocious circles across her clit and underneath. At the sounds he made, clipped, tortured little grunts as he exhaled, his eyes rolling back into his head for just miniscule moments – she'd almost missed it – before back between her legs, while he pumped his hand up and down between his own legs, on his knees in front of her.

And she felt it building in her gut, and her muscles tense, and she stopped her movements abruptly and breathed out harshly, meeting Mamoru's startled eyes that seemed to be almost agonized, his tip already covered in a thin sheen of moisture.

Usagi licked her lips involuntarily, and withdrew her hand completely.

This wasn't what she was here for. She already knew she could bring _herself_ to orgasm. This was his job tonight.

Her breathing was still coming out in labored puffs, breasts moving with her heaving chest, and Mamoru seemed to notice – his eyes seemed absolutely torn where to keep their attention, they seemed almost crazed in the way he _tried_ to keep her gaze, and his own hand slowed when he understood she wasn't going to go on.

But what he did then made her shudder all over again.

He lifted himself up, only slightly, lifting his bum from his feet, and himself fully up on only his knees, erection still in one hand, and leaned forward. His free hand grabbed her wrist, and brought her hand to his lips. And with a tiny, almost inaudible catch in his breath, his lips opened and wrapped around her index finger first, and she felt his tongue swirl, licking off every last bit of moisture he found there, before repeating the same with her middle finger.

It felt as if her entire sex throbbed at the sight, and caused her to whimper, and his eyes to fly back to hers around her fingers.

There was so much swimming in his eyes. So much she couldn't name. So many intense emotions that felt like they crawled right into her skin.

He released her finger with a little pop, his eyes not leaving hers, and she sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth, letting the back of her head hit the glass behind her, when his hand let go of himself and instead both hands moved to dig deep into her thighs, and his lips planted a sweet, slow kiss against her swollen, pink, lower ones.

But even when she held her breath, tense and ready and eager, his tongue didn't come out to play.

Instead he whispered, lips moving against her wet skin, right into her sex.

"Tell me what to do."

She released the breath she'd held with a growl, almost, and sucked in another, when his index finger moved up and stroked, gliding softly, slowly but precise, along her wet, slick and noisy folds and it coiled in her belly.

" _That_ ," she panted. It was harsh, raspy.

He withdrew his hand immediately, chuckling, shook his head.

" _No_ ," he whispered, brushed his cheek against the blonde curls of her sex. "Tell me."

She couldn't help but buck her hips a little, felt his nose bump against her, and she moaned. But he didn't move again, waited patiently for her to talk, and she had to roll her eyes back into her head.

What was he supposed to do? What did she like?

She squeezed her eyes shut, grabbed at one of his hands still at the top of her thighs, holding up her skirt.

" _Tongue_ ," she rasped, after a little while.

He rewarded her with a slow, careful lick, and she shuddered, but frowned. It was wrong, just a little too far…

"Tell me what to do," he repeated, whispering.

" _Higher_ ," she moaned. It was louder now, stronger.

And he reacted, immediately.

" _Higher_." This time it was a demand, and she groaned, guttural, when his tongue touched the underside of her clit.

" _Suck_ ," she almost shouted, this time, into his dark apartment. And when he did, and she cried, " _more teeth_ ," and he _did_ , and her head flung back against the glass, again and again, because he sucked harder, and she didn't need to say anymore, and her toes curled and her muscles tensed and it all coiled and coiled tighter and tighter in her and she was _almost, almost_ there…

Except that it wasn't enough, it wasn't deep enough, and her inside clenched, and her legs wobbled, and she was ready to cry because she was _just right there_ , and…

"Tell me what to do," he breathed, harshly, and she wouldn't have understood it with her clit in his mouth as it was, if she didn't know what he was saying anyway.

"Not –" she breathed, erratic, groaning "—enough. Dee-p."

He almost yanked one of her legs up, then. Up, and over his shoulder and she keened, and almost fell in her slippery sock, if it wasn't for his strong grip on her, because it was deeper like that, like a deepened, intense kiss and she throbbed, and throbbed and _shit-fuck-damn_ this was _so good_ , but…

" _Fingers_ ," she cried. She didn't even care how desperate she sounded, how feral. " _Inside_."

He let go of his tight grip on her then, and she screeched, because she lost her footing. But his hand was back, immediately, to steady her, and she cried out in frustration, because with a loud, wet smack his lips let go of her. It was a second before she felt herself being pulled, almost pushed, slightly lifted, and her back and head hit the dark, soft, silk sheets, and her hands clawed into them when she felt herself pulled closer towards the foot of the bed.

He was kneeling in front of it, in front of her, and this time he pulled both her legs over his shoulders and his mouth was back on her, sucking hard until she keened, and then she felt his finger push in and curl inside.

It caused her to wail, mewl pitifully, and her thighs to clench around his head, and the muscles in her insides to spasm once more, because it was the right spot, the right pressure, the _teeth_ , and his finger touched where it was _perfect_ and it was _so good_ and _so close_ … but not deep enough. Not _nearly_ deep enough.

"Tell me what –" he started again, but this time she shouted her request out before he had a chance to finish uttering the words, and what she shouted caused him to emit a strangled groan.

" _Fuck_ –" she shouted. " _You_. I need _you_. Inside."

His lips ripped away from her, and she cried out in protest, even when she lifted her head and saw through bleary eyes how he almost fell over his pants in his haste to get them down, while digging in his pocket for a piece of foil that he ripped with his teeth.

His eyes were wide, when he held his cock, thick and hard and weeping and neatly wrapped in rubber, one knee on the bed and her thighs around his waist, at her entrance.

She exhaled a shuddered breath, the frenzy a little bit lifted, and met his eyes.

Those unsure, gentle, kind eyes, so full of burning _want_. It made her throat constrict and her core flutter.

"Tell me what to do," he whispered, hair falling into his eyes.

He was breathing so harshly, his lips glistening with a moisture she knew was _her_. And those _eyes_. Those blue, blue eyes.

She lifted herself up on her elbows, and higher, caught her hands in the button border of his shirt and started pulling. He came down to her with a jerk, losing his balance slightly, and they both cried out, eyes on each other, when his cock, still in his fist and poised at her entrance, pushed inside ever so slightly with the fall, but he didn't push in further, waited for her to talk.

She licked her lips, ripped at his shirt – her hands were trembling too much, she wasn't able to do it gently. A few buttons must have ripped, she felt something clatter to the floor, something else hit her chest, but she got most of them undone. She pushed her hands inside, groaning at the feeling of his skin beneath her hands, and instead of pushing it off him, she pulled at the ends, and he fell on her lips.

The kiss was deep, wet, a little sloppy. She bit at his lower lip, and it made him whimper so much she felt his cock twitch against her and the thrill of it to run along her spine.

And then there was his heartbeat. She felt it beneath her fingers on his chest. It was even faster than hers. _Much,_ much faster than hers, and that weirdly fueled her on so much more than even the kiss did, and caused her to writhe against him, and him to whimper even more.

He released her lips abruptly, exhaled harshly against them, eyes feral and _so, so_ close to hers.

"Tell me what to do," he repeated, again. It was almost pleading.

Usagi swallowed, thickly, and with wide eyes, she decided not to tell, but to show, once more. And with a courage she had no idea where it was coming from, she grabbed his cock, feeling utterly self-satisfied at the sharp hiss it elicited from his lips vibrating against her own, and started rubbing it – slow at first, then faster – against her clit.

And how sweet the thrill of feeling his fingers curl and clench against her, as he tried to stay in control, tried not to come, and his forehead fell against hers as he started to pant, and her own breathing sped up once again.

She had to bite her lip, when she moved his cock around her clit in slow but strong swirls, up and down and lower. Hissed, when she dipped him in, just slightly, and he nearly cried out, only to move him back up. Arched her back and pressed her chest against him and he whimpered again, and his fingers clawed into the mattress as he tried to keep himself up to not to crush her beneath him.

And then there was this point, that sweet, sweet point, when she rubbed it, slick and wet, from underneath, and _shitfuck_ it was good and _ohgawd was this it?_ and her eyes rolled back into her head, and she felt him twitch in her hand, and Usagi cried out in frustration when he pulled himself out of her grasp with a fierce grunt and a staggered, "S-sorry."

His cock was back in his own fist, then. Hips raised away from her, and her eyes found his face. He was breathing hard through his nose, eyes scrunched shut, his lower lip between his teeth, and she got it.

 _Oh._

The feeling traveled down quickly and curled inside, the fact that he had nearly come without even being inside of her, yet.

And then his fist curled into the fabric of his sheets next to her face, his biceps flexed, just a little, as he balanced himself on his elbow, and he lowered his hips to her again. And now she didn't have to do it, because he was a fast learner, and he rubbed his cock, up and down, up and down, and in those delicious swirls around her clit once more, and this time she arched her back and her hands flew around him, underneath his shirt and clawed into his back, because now she could just feel, and nothing else, and _fuck_ it was good.

And he dipped his cock back in, just the tip, just like she had done, and moved it back up, and her insides fluttered around him because this was delicious, beautiful torture, and her nails dug into his skin as her muscles twitched and convulsed and _fuck –_

And he did it again, and she hit her head against the pillow cause _shit shit shit –_

And he did it a third time, dipping in, just the tip, but then he groaned, and cursed, and with a powerful push that moved her up the bed just a little, he was buried deep inside. They cried out into each other's mouths, and his hand flew to her clit and swirled – index and middle finger, just like she had done herself earlier, only a little clumsier - while he withdrew with a low groan and shoved himself back in, deep, deep inside, deeper than before.

She held her breath, clung to his shoulders, clutching at his back, and arched her pelvis up to meet him, and it was these frenzied, hard rubs of his fingers, at the same time that he thrust back in, that it was finally there.

She whimpered, strangled, teeth against his shoulder as her whole body seemed to spasm and she forgot to breathe for a second, when her world went white for just a moment.

It was different from the sharp, local orgasms she'd brought herself to on her own. Maybe not better, but so, so different, and her head hit the mattress with a thud, and she dug her heels into his back to continue, so she could ride this out a little longer.

And even when he was still moving, panting, his hand came up and he propped his elbow up on the other side of her, and she started giggling through her shudders, when his forehead landed back on hers and he smiled, even when his lips still quivered and his eyes were that intense shade of frenzy.

It was two, three, four more thrusts, and he shuddered, too, and Usagi had to bite her lip, because damn, he looked gorgeous when he came.

And then his eyes opened back up, hooded and spent, but glued onto hers, and his chest heaved and his exhales where harsh, and mingled with hers.

She suddenly noticed, again, that the apartment was still completely dark, completely silent, and that her skirt, hunched around her middle, was still on her, and that his shirt hung around them, open, covering them both, and his eyes were searching something in hers that made her throat constrict.

She had to bite her lip, and smiled a sheepish little smile at him, and then she reached up and glided her hand underneath his shoulders, and slipped the garment off his back.

He chuckled, low and rumbly and a little breathy.

"It did work…" he said then, blushing slightly "...right?"

She snorted, shook her head a little, and his eyes widened a little with a frown, before she pushed herself up and nodded.

"Yes. It did work."

But his frown stayed, and turned into alarm, when she straightened up farther, leaning to stand, and he grabbed at her arm, his breathing picking up again.

"Wait-" he breathed.

She met his alarmed eyes. She'd meant to get up to get rid of her skirt, and blinked, realizing it must look she was getting up to _go_...

She swallowed, held his gaze, and cocked her head sideways, and with clumsy fingers, blindly found the zipper on her skirt, and pushed it down her legs.

He exhaled with a little "Ah," and it sounded a little embarrassed.

She climbed back on the bed, and lay down on her side, completely naked now, both of them, except for her silly rabbit socks, and somehow she thought it fitting – this was all her. She settled down close to him, but not touching, and pillowed her head on her own elbow and arm, tucking her other hand beneath, and met his silent stare.

He didn't say anything, even when he smacked his lips and seemed to try.

When he seemed to have given up the fight, and stayed mute, Usagi moved her hand from underneath her elbow, and placed it back on his chest. Just like before.

His heart was still hammering strong. Maybe even stronger than before. She felt him tremble beneath her fingers, and she swallowed thickly.

"Are you going to leave the country again?" she whispered toward his chest, and her hand, rising and falling with it.

He shook his head, and his hair fell back across his eyes. "No," he whispered.

She nodded to herself then, swallowing. "Good," she said, and with that she swung over and on top of him, and lowered her face down to his.

He caught her by the lips, and his kiss this time was a little more desperate, and his hands in her hair and on her thigh a little stronger, as if he were afraid she'd up and leave at any moment and he would have to hold her there.

When she broke the kiss, it was him that moved with her this time, reluctant to let go, and she slid her fingers into the silky, soft raven hair and brushed it from his eyes.

"Can I see you again, tomorrow?" she whispered.

He nodded – quickly, breathlessly, but then frowned. And with a powerful push, he swung her around, pinning her beneath him, and kissed her again, with more longing, more hunger than before, and when the kiss ended, she was flushed and panting again, and his hands were brushing lower.

"How about you stay?" he whispered back, and his voice broke, and she could only nod before she drowned once more.

It was a text that woke her up the next morning, sprawled across his chest, sticky, hair curled from sweat, and his hand that clasped hers tightly, even in sleep.

 _Rei, 11:03 am_

 _So? ? ?  
_

* * *

 _So there you go xD. The teach Usagi Sex Trope meets the Orgasm-Gap in a female-gaze smut fantasy. I'm a fan of open endings, as you know, and I really hope you liked it!_

 _Also, for everyone who's concerned about drunk driving: if you look closely, I made them share - and not even finish – a small, standard 330 ml bottle of japanese rice wine. So no one was really even tipsy here (which was important to me, because accountability of decisions and all.) But alcohol is a realistic factor in situations like these, so I wanted to keep it in._

 _So yeah, I know, I know, commenting smut is weird - and this time it really was a full blown smut story - but please let me know how I did, and what you'd like to see in this series, and, y'know, talk to me, please? ;)_


	3. Sehnsucht

Sehnsucht

A fic in the Lemon Tree Series

* * *

 _So, first, thank you to my beta, Uglygreenjacket, I know you had a rough weekend, and I SO appreciate you beta-ing for me anyway!_

 _"_ _Sehnsucht" is an untranslatable german word that describes the yearning for something far away, a high, recurring, intense, often painful desire for something out of reach. It's the agony that comes with longing. Literally translated it means 'Yearn-addiction'._

 _So.. I've been asked over and over in my ask box if I can write a crystal tokyo future lemon story, and they always asked me the same: To please write a lemon about keeping the sexual spark alive in a_ long _long-term relationship._

 _And I absolutely understand why you would want this. Because it's one of the realest struggles in a sexual relationship._

 _And that's why I'm saying no to_ one _part of the request: this will not be Crystal Tokyo. Because it would be so easy to grasp for magic and glamour and that (for most people) very unrealistic lifestyle for a solution: Instead, I want to give you a real-life story for a real solution to a real problem. And this is why this story is set in the future, in long term commitment, but instead of Crystal Tokyo, I'm using Naoko's Parallel!verse, which is supposed to be set in a world where they live a normal life, something similar to ours._

 _Anyway, I wrote this to a german song called "Flash Mich" by Mark Forster (for all you guys who can somewhat understand my native tongue), and this fic has been planned forever but I didn't write it while writing Confetti, so here you have it now as a small interlude between Confetti and its epilogue ;) Let me know what you think!_

* * *

Both the International Child Neurology Congress and the Annual Clinical Neurosurgery Conference were held in Europe this year, and so Mamoru found himself on trains that were slower and louder than he was used to, driving through scenery that was greener and thicker of trees than he was used to, and speaking in several symposia and holding a few poster presentations where he could in a language he was fluent in, even when it didn't flow off the tongue as easily as he would hope.

And while the prospect of being in Europe for a little while, with the congresses being a little more than a week apart, had seemed thrilling at first, and he always enjoyed the insight into different cultures that these congresses allowed him, he'd quickly realized what it meant.

Two or three-day trips away from home were normal for him. But two weeks? He couldn't remember the last time he had not seen his family for this long a time. Maybe ever.

So, by the time the Annual Clinical Neurosurgery Conference in Paris had ended in its closing ceremony, and the stress and nervousness that came whenever he had to stand in front of a lectern and relate scientific findings in a language that was not his mother tongue finally fell off him, and he found himself in a bistro overlooking the Seine with a view of the Eiffel Tower that felt as if it might have come straight out of a painting depicting the Belle Epoque, he'd missed Usagi so much he felt like weeping.

He hadn't, of course, and when she'd called that day, he'd laughed and related every detail of those chocolate croissants in minute detail for her. And when his children poked their pink heads into the line of her phone camera and spoke of their school day in annoyed tones while the sun was still high where he was, but gone where they were, he was all smiles and hushed, but controlled 'I miss you's. But when he hung up, knowing she was in bed with the side next to her empty, hugging the phone, and he was sitting in this chair in this much too big hotel room overlooking a scenery he was dying to share with her, his throat constricted, and a lump formed that he hadn't felt in quite some time.

They'd had children for 15 years now, had been married for 16, together for more than half his life. They'd gone through a lot together, literally the end of the world several times. They'd fought and annoyed and worshipped each other, and sometimes marital life could be tedious and tiring and infuriating. Sometimes he forgot how precious this life was, in the routine of things between washing machines and insurance. Sometimes, he forgot that the peck that was their kiss good night, and the annoyed eye roll of his teenage daughter, and the sheepish 'oops' of his youngest when she broke something valuable _again,_ was what they had fought for so hard, was the most precious thing in the world.

He didn't forget it, now. Now, he missed it all so hard he could barely contain the homesickness, could barely keep it down, could barely appreciate the fact that he sat in a building that was hundreds of years old in a city that had passed the test of time and had so much to show him.

He couldn't enjoy it.

Whenever he was two or three days gone from her, and couldn't see her face as the first and last thing of the day, it suddenly became the most important thing in the world, once more, and absolute agony to be away from. And every time, he vowed to not forget it again – to not ignore it – once routine and night shifts and spilled milkshakes on homework had him back, and yet every time he did.

It seemed, even knowing full well what it meant to have no family didn't prevent him from forgetting to not take his happiness for granted, sometimes.

He tended to forget how special Kousagi was with her crash-landing cartwheels, and her too loud, off-key singing and her happy, giant hugs and that smile and purity that was so absolutely _Usagi_ that it took his breath away. He forgot how special Chibi-Usa was with her nose in her books, her quietly judging huffs, and the way she cared so deeply, even when she didn't always say it that was so uniquely _him_ that it scared him. He forgot how special his marriage was, with a wife that still looked at him the same way she did when he was 17 whenever he managed to make her angry; with a wife that was the princess from his dreams and now the queen of his world.

He'd gotten up, then, spent his remaining days in Paris exploring the vast museums and sat in a lecture or two at the Sorbonne. Things he enjoyed. Things Usagi wouldn't enjoy. Things that didn't remind him of her absence. He absolutely avoided the food, the riverside, the things that gave Paris its reputation.

He continued the trend once he'd arrived in Amsterdam, disembarked the crammed train and found himself in a city with even smaller, even more romantic riversides, and browsed the halls of Renaissance art instead.

He'd been so absolutely relieved when the Congress had started, and he could once again spend his days sitting in stuffed rooms full of people in suits with scrutiny in their eyes and stale coffee in their cups, as he fumbled with the unfamiliar language and the uncomfortable situation. He'd stayed late for discussions and get-togethers that bored him, but kept his mind away from home, and the current distance between him and it. Between him and her.

Sometimes, when life was being stressful, and his shoulders tense and his head aching, he would sit and wish for a day of quiet – wish for an afternoon with just his book and some silence. Now, as he sat in the quiet of his hotel room, not ready to go to bed, unable to even call her and hear her voice because it would be 6 in the morning for her and she'd thump him one if he did, he wished so hard for just a second of the constant noise that was the soundtrack of his life, that were his girls. There was no ounce of desire left in him to even touch the book he'd laid out that night. Instead he lay down, closed his eyes tight, and imagined the pillow he was hugging was his wife.

It didn't really work that much. The pillow didn't kick him in his sleep.

"Good morning, Dr. Tsukino!"

Mamoru lifted his eyes, greeted the awfully cheerful and awfully tall man that had been working the reception of his hotel all of the previous days he'd been here, and accepted the paper cup that had already been prepared for him gratefully. Mamoru guessed he must be predictable, if the man knew his routine after only 4 days.

He butchered the only Dutch word he knew, 'Thank you', and the heavily bearded guy in the red checkered flannel and what his daughter would call a 'man-bun,' gifted him with a bright sincere smile and nod.

But when he walked the short distance from the hotel to the congress hall along the tidy, narrow, cobbled streets and the charming gabled canal houses with the high windows, colorful floor tiles and steep staircases that housed quaint cafés and delightful owner-runs shops, it hit him so hard he was contemplating to just take the next tram to Amsterdam Centraal, the next train to the airport from there, and fly home, instead of stepping foot into these halls another day.

He didn't, of course. Instead, he stood next to his poster in his allotted time-slot and answered any question directed at him.

That day, he didn't stay for the stuffy discussions after the main keynotes, he basically ran back to his hotel, got nearly run over by several cyclist two times over, because, again, he looked into the wrong direction when crossing the street without consciously reminding himself of the lack of left-hand traffic.

He felt the lump form back in his throat when the screen flickered and Kousagi sat there in her overtly fluffy, overtly pink full-body pajamas, bouncing on his and Usagi's bed, with Usagi trying to hold her phone in a way that he could see all three of them, even when Chibi-Usa had her face buried in her own phone.

"You'll be good for Aunt Setsuna, Haruka and Michiru?" Mamoru asked dutifully, his voice carrying more emotion than he had intended.

Kousagi nodded enthusiastically, even when Chibi-Usa rolled her eyes, lamenting her disagreement.

"I don't understand the fuss," Chibi-Usa whined. "I could stay here, you know? I could look after Kousagi and myself, you know that, right?" Accompanied with the biggest eye roll yet, that he quickly mirrored.

Usagi had the phone last. "I'll see you tomorrow," she'd whispered into the phone with that sweet look in her eyes, and he'd nodded breathlessly and hugged the phone when she'd hung up.

It had been ages since he'd been away from his family even remotely as long as now. It had been even longer since he'd had her just to himself for just a few, precious days.

Since he was scheduled to speak at a symposium later in the day, just before the closing ceremony, he couldn't pick Usagi up from the airport. And she'd assured him – she'd saved the world, she could manage making her way from an airport to a hotel, even if it was in a country she didn't speak the language of.

But, when he returned, heart beating as if he was meeting her for a third or fourth date, having skipped the closing ceremony altogether, she hadn't arrived yet. And when he tried her phone it was switched off. And no matter how much he told himself she'd probably just forgotten to turn off flight mode, he'd started to pace the room, checked down with reception over and over, kept trying to call her, and finally, ran down the steep, steep stairs two at a time in order to get to the airport.

But there she was, and he halted at the bottom of the stairs, just off the large reception hall.

Golden, almost glowing hair moving with her gesticulations, speaking Japanese and broken English in that loud way people raised their voices when their opponent didn't understand them, as if volume made it better, waving her hands, clutching a trolley.

He snorted in reflex, and deflated, relieved, so, so relieved, and caught the handrail as he caught his breath. He watched her, just a moment, and felt that sharp jab of his heart pounding against his chest – the kind he'd forgotten, too, the kind he used to have all the time, in the beginning, whenever he saw her.

He blinked, remained chained to the handrail, watched. The cute way she scrunched up her nose as she couldn't make herself be understood, and the way that blue dress hugged her curves, flowed around those creamy legs and dimpled knees, and had they always been this long?...And the way that bearded flannel coffee guy smiled at her that was both amused and enamored and helpless, and – Mamoru's eyebrows lowered into a glare – definitely checked her out, however subtly.

He shook out of it, at least partly, at least the bit that kept him chained even if not the part that couldn't help but ogle his wife's legs as if he'd never seen them, and started forward, walked up to her, stopped just behind her.

He bent, just slightly, just barely, touched his lips against the shell of her ear, and she jumped as he whispered into it, and he winked at Flannel Guy while he spoke, in a way that must have taken the guy so aback, that was so different from the man the guy had seen these past few, lonely days.

She spun her head up and around, caught his eyes wide-eyed, and he smirked that cocky half smile she so hated, or maybe she didn't, because she blushed in a way she hadn't in a long, long time when he took her hand in his, her trolley in the other, and basically dragged her up the stairs.

She giggled, that high, beautiful sound. Giggled again when he chucked her trolley into a corner of the room, almost blindly, and whirled around and back towards her and had his tongue in her mouth and his hands around her thighs before she could speak another word.

It was silly, almost, the thrill. As if he hadn't seen her in years, not days. As if he didn't know the dress he peeled her out of, didn't know the flush that covered her chest in excitement, didn't know the thin, meshed, see-through lace with the seam that ran right across her nipple that was her fancy underwear, the one she only wore for special occasions, the one that made him hard from 0 to 100 as if he hadn't already been the moment he laid eyes on her tonight.

Instead, he pushed her up into his arms and up against the wall and delighted in the way her squeals turned into moans under his lips, the way she wriggled underneath him and her hands pulled at his tie and pushed at the crisp white fabric of his shirt to get it off as if this was the last time she could ever do it.

"Mamo-chan…" she breathed against his cheek as he pressed his lips and teeth against her neck, the way she liked, the way that made her claw her fingers into his shirt and forget she wanted to push it off.

It was the sweetest sound in the world. It was home. Even 9,282 km away from home. And it drove him wild and even harder, and this time, when she opened her mouth and granted him access, he kissed her so hard she mewled beneath him and bucked her hips against him, and all he could do was push at her skin and her breast clad in this flimsy, sexy piece of barely anything, and her soft, thick bum – the feeling of which beneath the pads of his fingers made him harder still.

And so, when she pushed at his shoulders and he fell backwards on the bed, shirt and tie and still fully clothed as he was against her bra and panties, and her hands slipped into his hair and against his scalp in this way that she knew possessed the power to make him shudder all over, and pressed her lips back to his and her thighs around his middle, pinning him beneath her, he came undone under her, dug his hands into her flesh and opened his mouth to be devoured.

He cried out in hisses and moans and his face contorted, grimacing from the intense longing, that need he hadn't felt in so, so long, yet all of last week, and squeezed the soft flesh at her hips in reflex when she sat up, retreated, just barely, her hands against the bulge in his pants, kneading, slipping to his zipper, but he couldn't have it, and so, with one, strong movement he flipped her around on her back even as she squealed and then shuddered, when his mouth and teeth latched around one puckered nipple under thin, see-through material, and he knew to recognize the way her hands clawed into his shoulders, the way her knees twitched and would have clamped together in her desire had he not wedged one leg between both of hers, and she moved up on it instead, rubbing herself and her panties against the fabric that covered his thigh in a way that made him twitch in his pants and his eyes roll back into his head.

"Mamo-chan…" she mewled again, hips off the bed, and he didn't speak and didn't stop again before he had her chanting that name with her thighs around his shoulders, and first his mouth against the lace and later his tongue against her slit.

And because this wasn't his home, and this weren't his neighbors next door, and their kids were half a world away, he half groaned- half gurgled in protest against her clit when she turned her face away and bit into his pillow to keep from calling out too loudly, because he wanted it all. And when she came, toes curling, head thrashing, back arching and hips pushing off the bed under his lips, and he finally found himself moving in her, moments later, after he had stumbled out of his clothes and fallen over his pants and back into her, and moved, pushed, keened, frantic and fast and out of breath, and she held his face between her hands and whispered, "I missed you, too," he came so hard, and so way too quickly, and howled into her neck as he shuddered it all out.

She giggled, then. That lighthearted sound she'd made so often when they were younger, laid in bed like this without needing to lock the door, and suddenly, Amsterdam was the best place in the world.

Suddenly, he couldn't wait.

He pushed off the bed, slipped the condom off and trashed it, and pulled at her hands and arms to get her up.

"Mamo-chan, what—"

"C'mon," he whispered, a gleam in his eyes, and a shared shower later that felt like the kind he remembered from their late teenage years, he pushed her bra back up her arms, kissed her shoulder as he fasted the clasp, and practically jumped back into his black jeans, grabbed blindly at his array of dress shirts he'd stacked on the dresser, watched transfixed as she lifted those creamy arms and pushed her head back through her dress, still so very bewildered.

"C'mon," he whispered again, and reached for her hand, wrapping his long fingers around her soft, gentle, strong, softer ones, gold band beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he couldn't wait to see this city, couldn't wait for the shine in her eyes when _she_ saw this city.

Because suddenly, this city was this magical place where summer nights were not humid but warm and pleasant, where the lights coming from bricked garbled houses and ornate, black, iron street lamps shone across arched little bridges and shimmered, glimmering, glowing, in the water of the canals. Where laughing couples rode bikes across narrow lanes by the endless, sparkling riversides lined with small, picturesque boats.

He held her hand, grasped it tightly as she took it all in, eyes wide in wonder and delight, and they strolled along the moonlit canals with the light dancing in the shimmering, moving water, and bought cheap wine from an overpriced convenience store because she insisted, and a loaf of cheese because these were the Netherlands and she would have protested otherwise, which she later bit into as if it were a sandwich, and it made him snort so hard she glared at him, when they sat down by the water with their feet dangling down into the canal, the play of the light in the water reflecting off their skin, and it felt as if they were ten, twenty years younger and the world was at their fingertips.

And because he was in a country where people didn't give a damn about public displays of affection, and didn't look at you twice if you sat at the canals with your wife buried in a block of cheese, and because he would only have this for three more days, he grabbed what was left of her loaf and threw it into the canal under her loud protests, before he replaced it with his lips and her fingers slipped once more against his scalp in the way that made him shiver so very hard.

He'd forgotten what it felt like to miss her.

* * *

 _A few words on why this problem is so, so real: (and it is!) This thrill of the first few months that some of us mourn for the rest of the relationship and ask where it's gone? It made way for comfort, content, emotional stability. The comfortable, deep love that replaces the begging thrill. And it's good it's gone, really - you'd literally suffer from brain damage if that hormonal cocktail held your brain captive like that for a lot longer than it did in that almost manic, first few days, sometimes weeks, maybe even months. But, that being said- that thrill isn't completely lost. We can remind ourselves of it, from time to time. The question at the root of this problem is – how can we want what we already have?_

 _The struggle is in the debate between known and unknown, routine and exciting, old and new. Thrilling is the new, the spontaneous, the unexpected. Exhilarated laughter together, new challenges, new thrills, a road together that isn't 100% planned out._

 _If you look for the old thrill in the same routine for years and years with the same monday night sex where you know what will happen immediately, it's hard to find - not impossible, but harder - and that is very, very normal, and not at all bad. It's beautiful, being so comfortable with another person you know their every move. Nothing is more comforting than that if times are hard for you otherwise, for one._

 _But the thrill, it comes when you take it through the mixer and try out something new, you know, once in a while, when you need it. When you give each other time to see each other again in that thrilling way. Be it because you didn't see each other in a little while, or because you see your partner in their element from afar and they are confident and competent and you get to remind yourself that this amazing person over there is yours and yours alone._

 _So yes, this is where this is set. In reminding ourselves what we have, reminding what it was like to fall in love for the first time, and what it's like to miss what he have to want it all the more._

 _(And yes, you do see a parallel between this sex scene and the make out session in Chapter 13 of Confetti. This is the way that scene would have ended had I finished telling it there ; ) )_

 _Let me know what you thought, please! (And yes, totally know that commenting on smut is still weird, and you're totally welcome to review anonymously, of course!)_


	4. Torment

Torment

A Short Story in the "Lemon Tree" Series

* * *

 _So… I got a lot of anon prompts on my tumblr. Most of them about jealousy, others on having sex anywhere outside the bedroom, from closet-sex to bathtub sex! All in all, if I summarize all these requests, what stood out was that most of them were about depicting sex in a way that's outside of routine, something that brings excitement into sex, and I did my best to warp them all up into something that I felt could work for me, lol. In the process, I tried to depict something where Usagi had a little more agency in sex and got to call the shots, even while working with the prompts I got (and not in her POV.) Mostly because a) someone expressing desire bluntly is very exciting to me and b) because let's face it, girl knows to indulge, and it's what I want to see more in smut, so here I wrote it! I hope you like it, and that all you individual prompt-givers are happy with how this turned out ; )_

 _And, my always thanks to my beta, Uglygreenjacket, who has to put up with a lot of shit I come up with xD_

 _Anyway, remember episode 105, in S? It's the one in the mountains, where Mako trains in the mountains and Usagi suggests to join her because Mamoru has a summer job at this Resort Hotel but then totally has no time for her? Yeah that one, the one with the hilarious Daruma Daimon. If you don't, just remember Mamoru had this silly summer job._

 _This fic is Post-Stars, set in canon!_

* * *

Mamoru didn't even notice the way he wrung the towel, the way he stared. Not until Nakamura nudged him, overladen with plates that wobbled slightly in his grasp that brought Mamoru back immediately.

"You like her?" Nakamura asked, eyebrow lifted in jest.

Mamoru straightened, pursed his lips, didn't answer, and turned instead to take some of Nakamura's pile to carry into the kitchen.

He felt the guy's disappointment, and felt a little bad, immediately. He shared a bunk bed with him, down in the staff rooms, and Nakamura had tried and tried to make friends… but Mamoru wasn't Usagi, and he immediately frowned, thinking if he should answer honestly after all…

But he wasn't here to make friends. He was here to work. And it was good money, even when the shifts went all day and the waiter's uniforms were stiff and unyielding, but it was only six weeks. Six weeks with the summer sun beating down at him and his days filled with carrying kitchenware, but it was good money, and it was worth it.

"Relations with guests are strictly prohibited," Nakamura said, and his voice had turned stiff and tense, and Mamoru sighed. Obviously, he'd not reacted all that well, again.

Mamoru nodded – spared a quick glance over his shoulder.

Usagi did look almost edible in that white swimsuit, lounging at the side of the pool. And he really didn't like the way the other, overwhelmingly male, patrons noticed this, too. Even when he knew she was doing this for him.

Well, not _for_ him, really. More _to_ him.

He glanced over again, and this time, she met his eyes, and smirked that way too confident smile, and went to fold long, naked legs one of the other, and he had to quickly look away.

Work. He was here for work.

* * *

Well, it was a big resort. There was the pool area, the restaurant, the gender-segregated hot springs on the open-air terraces on the top floors, the bar, the breakfast area, the spas. Every one of those places he was technically able to be placed on for any shift, and Usagi couldn't possibly be everywhere where he was, could she? He could avoid her and those eyes.

Turns out, she could. When he had the pool shift, she lay on one of the deck chairs with her legs dangling one over the other and her skin glistening in the sun. When he had the bar shift she was sitting inside, almost translucent beach wear thrown on over her swimsuits that looked more like lingerie than clothing, fingers twirling against her straw or lips closing around it and he _couldn't look_ , he could _not_ look. When he was called up, he'd find her leaning against a wall in the corridors with those eyes looking up at him, and he was beginning to wonder how the heck she did that when he ran into her again.

"Usako," he hissed, when he turned around with a tray filled with cocktails on his forearm, and there she was, lips glistening with her cherry-scented lip balm, stripping off her robe.

Today's swimsuit went straight to his gut, and was what he'd learned to recognize as a Monokini with a V cleavage so deep it went almost to her belly button. It was held together by a simply tied string on her otherwise completely exposed back, and it made his ears ring, and his blood rush to places he really could not hide that well in this uniform.

"What?" she'd replied with that slow, not so innocent smile. "I'm just enjoying the sun."

And she strode to the pool and away from him, and he wasn't the only person looking after her.

"CHIBA!" came the call from one of the deck bar staff. "Chop, chop!"

He jerked out of his frozen state and spilled his first drink upon delivering it.

 _"_ _I'll come visit you again," she'd said, running her fingers across his naked chest._

 _He'd pursed his lips. "I won't have time for you this time, either, you know that. I'm there to work. It's a very intense six weeks."_

 _She shrugged, all the whatever in her soft, naked shoulders. Her eyebrows had lowered in determination, and he'd chuckled, before he left the warmth of her body to step out of his bed, to her grunted protest._

 _"_ _I have a goal, you know? I'm willing to put in some work for it to convince you," she'd said, rolling onto her stomach, the soft curve of her naked bum underneath the thin sheets distracting him as he made his way to his drawers, to get some fresh underwear, and clean clothes to wear after his shower._

 _"_ _Oh, yeah?" he said, trying not to glance back at her and failing. She'd propped her chin into her hands, looked at him in that way that caused his mouth to go dry._

 _Her hair had been spread out across his pillow, and the way she lay there, soft pink skin and golden hair against the white of his sheets, the sunlight filtering through his white curtains bathing her in this soft glow, she looked like an angel._

 _"_ _Yeah," she said, the sides of her mouth lifting into the sweetest, most adorable smile, nose wrinkling and eyes shining. "My goal is to fuck you in that crisp and starched waiter outfit at least once."_

 _Mamoru stumbled, dropped his clothes, felt the tips of his ears turn pink, immediately._

 _"_ _Usa!" He'd admonished. She just looked at him as if she's informed him the weather was nice, not said something all so scandalous._

 _She'd booked her room two days later._

As a matter of fact, this was the third time she'd done this to him.

The first time was the summer he'd turned 18, and she 15, and she'd come here pretending it was all for Makoto's training session, when really, she'd missed him, and wanted a date, by which she'd meant stolen kisses at a romantic hotel, forgetting altogether what the word "working" even meant. She'd stayed behind even when the girls had gone their way, and looked at him sullenly from afar while he'd waited on tables that weren't hers.

Once he'd been back home, he'd explained that such things were frowned upon – you didn't bring your girlfriend to work, and that, really, it was distracting.

It was the kind of information he should never have disclosed.

By the time she'd started speaking about his waiter's uniform from 'that summer' with that particular look, and had that glint in her eye when she did, he knew he was fucked.

Of course, it was a couple years until he had the chance to work there again. The summer after that he'd been busy fighting abominable circus creatures, being abducted, and then, well…

It was only the summer after Galaxia, when things had calmed down, and they'd all recovered from the shock, that he'd decided the extra money was worth six weeks of constant labor, and to his surprise, Usagi had not disagreed.

But she'd showed up. Several times. It was the summer that she had turned 17, in her penultimate high school year, and this time, it wasn't stolen kisses that she'd wanted. That summer, she'd gotten him in trouble.

By the time he'd started his first shift this year – one year later, and two weeks ago – the rest of the hotel staff had regarded him either with snickering smiles or avoided eye contact with flushed faces.

Apparently, he had a reputation now. Of making out with guests behind the pool house. Guests that were in swimsuits. Swimsuits that had very flexible fabric one's hands could freely roam beneath.

Guests, obviously, had been singular, and particularly blonde and particularly irresistible, especially when she had such persistent intentions, and he'd been _so_ sure nobody could have seen them there, but turns out the security cameras didn't miss that spot.

He'd been hired again only with very strong admonitions and warnings of 'no third chances'.

But turns out, at 18, this somehow seemed to have turned into his girlfriend's number one sexual fantasy, saying things like, 'but next year we'll live together, and the hotel thing won't be so exciting, then,' with peculiarly intense pouts, and she'd saved up a year to afford a whole week of renting a room in this particular hotel, stocked up on revealing swimwear, and was now obviously out to torture him.

And he'd been fully prepared to stay strong and endure her ogly eyes, again, salivating after him, waiting for him to say the word. At least, that's what it had been like before. And that had already been hard, because six weeks away was nothing he did terribly easily, no matter how it looked on the outside.

But this? This new tactic of hers he couldn't stand, and it was slowly chipping away at every last ounce of self-control he had.

And he had a lot of self-control. Usually.

What he wasn't prepared for was the temptress who had arrived, who had replaced his sweet, puckered-lips girlfriend by sheer determination and conviction, and even when he felt her eyes on him constantly, she was either not looking when he finally turned to catch her eye, or she was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and that knowing smirk he couldn't place at first, until it came to him at night when he stared at the ceiling and wanted nothing more than to sneak out and into her hotel room (305, he'd checked immediately), that it was the kind of look HE regarded her with, usually, and definitely when she'd been here last year, and he'd shown her intentions the cold shoulder for the majority of the time.

Mamoru really didn't like when the tables turned on him.

He'd taken out his phone, typed his message quickly.

 _'_ _You're acting like you think I act, aren't you?'_ he texted.

His phone blinked up the second he'd placed it back by his pillow.

 _Usako, 1:03 am.  
Maybe. _

He frowned at the screen, froze when Nakamura moved in his sleep in the bunk bed above him, and then typed his reply.

 _'_ _It's not gonna work,'_ he texted.

He internally listed every argument she could make, and every possible reply for them, until his phone lit up again.

But it wasn't a text this time. It was a photo.

He groaned audibly, clamped his mouth shut when the bunk bed moved and Nakamura growled at him to shut the fuck up.

It was a selfie. Golden hair and pink, naked skin looked irresistible on Room 305's crisp white sheets, too.

* * *

She kept at it. Sat at the pool with her manga and her legs long and exposed and creamy – and at some point, when he was waiting on tables near her, she'd not brushed off the douche of the day that tried to hit on her, and who was shamelessly flirting with her. She wasn't flirting back, mind you. But when Mamoru was called to her side by a loud 'WAITER!', boomed by the guy currently attempting to charm her, he was there in a flash, and she met his eyes with that amused little lingering smile, but didn't _say_ anything, not even when he came back with their drinks and his fingers flexed against hers, when he handed her her sparkling lime-mint quencher with an extra pink umbrella in it, because she smiled a little wider when he did that.

"On the house," he growled, and turned away. He didn't want any random guy paying for her drinks.

He did try to ignore her studiously, though.

It sometimes didn't work all that much.

Like that night she stayed by the pool past nightfall, until his shift was almost done and the kitchen had closed and his job was to wipe everything down and to tip all the chairs against the tables on the pool deck so the cleaners would have an easier time during the night, and when he was done, she was still there.

"I'm about to head in, Usako," he mumbled, his back turned to her.

"Hm," she said, smiling a small, adorable Usagi-smile when he did turn back to her. "What if I want another drink?"

He sighed. "What do you want?"

She cocked her head, surprised. She'd probably expected a little more bickering on his side, but her swimsuit was too dangerous for him to rile her up and stay sane through it.

Instead, her nose wrinkled into the cutest of all smiles, and it turned out to be worse than if he'd riled her up, and why the hell was she doing this to him, anyway.

There were two security cameras just behind his back.

"Milkshake!" she beamed.

He didn't have to ask which one, of course. Just went inside and had it made by the guy currently manning the bar, who looked at him with exasperated eyes saying he'd already cleaned the mixer, and Mamoru pretended to have forgotten that tidbit and made him do it anyway, and put it on his own tab.

When he returned, Usagi was swimming lazy laps in the pool, and floated to her back once he stepped foot on the deck.

He swallowed.

The pool was illuminated from down below and mirrored its ripples all around the area in waving, blue and turquoise and white light across his skin and the glass and the whole deck as he approached, and Usagi in the middle of it in her pale swimsuit for the day that had frigging _cutouts_ on the side looked like she was a frigging goddess in the water, and she _knew_ how he felt about seeing her wet, with her bangs sticking damp against her forehead in small, enticing curls and tiny water droplets glistening in her eyelashes, and he groaned out loud at the strain of his sudden erection against the too tight confinement of his pants.

"Please," he said dumbly, and cursed himself both for the fact that his voice broke when he said it, as well as his side eye at the camera to note that the spot where she swam right now was not in its range.

She inclined her head, smiling that angelic smile of hers, her arms moving softly against the water as she made herself stay afloat and move just slightly closer to him and the edge of the water, and he could not take his eyes off her, standing frozen with her milkshake dumbly raised.

"Can I have my drink?" she said sweetly, and moved one elbow up to the edge of the pool, looking up at him.

He swallowed once more, approaching the side of the pool with a too dry mouth. And when he lowered himself down on one knee to place her glass beside her, she reached up, grasped his shoulder, and pulled him, waiter's uniform and all, into the water.

He fell with a surprised shout that got quickly muffled by the water as he dove beneath the surface, and it took a split second longer than usual for him to float back up, weighted down by soaked formal wear. He gasped when he resurfaced, throwing his head back and pushing his hands into his hair to wipe the wet, long strands back across his scalp as he did, and glared at her cheeky smile and the rippling water glowing ethereal across her skin.

But she was _wet_ , and he'd gone through this torture for _days_ now, and when she got close and whispered her little, "Hi," almost against his lips with that happy shine in her eyes, he suddenly didn't remember why he was even fighting this in the first place. And even when he wasn't the one who started the kiss, he was the one who opened wide and shoved his tongue into her mouth at the same time that he shoved his hands into her wet, glorious hair, and she moaned against his lips and wrapped her thighs tightly against the cummerbund of his silly, stupid waiter's uniform, underwater.

It wasn't long before he had his hands in her swimsuit and groaned into the weightlessness with his boner against her ass.

But then the lights at the side of the deck turned on, and someone talked – the cleaners! And he was all Tuxedo Mask for a second, whisking her out of the water and away before they got seen, by either the cleaning crew _or_ the cameras, and remembered that no, this was really not a good idea, however enticing it might be.

He felt like banging his head in frustration when she slipped from his grasp and went back for her milkshake, slurping noisily through the straw as she greeted the cleaners cheerfully, throwing him a wink into the trees when she hopped back through the glass doors into the hotel.

He'd had some trouble that night to explain to Nakamura why he looked as if he'd taken a shower fully clothed.

And he'd had even more trouble sleeping, the image of her in that pool and her legs around him driving him insane, not to mention that final wink, and it wasn't any better the next day, either. In fact, if he'd had any trouble ignoring her swimsuits the day before, the next day was pure undiluted torture, and instead of ignoring her, he couldn't look away, stumbled into guests, and was so preoccupied one of his superiors ordered him to the dishes in the kitchens, instead.

He went immediately, and the warm water and the soap and the dishes almost managed to calm him down as he cleaned plate after plate and glass after glass for the next hours, but when she passed him by in the corridors in that little white dress after his shift with that look on her face, and brushed, just barely, almost but quite not touching, her hand across his front, he almost whimpered, and obviously then she knew he was still hard and he grit his teeth and she smirked, fucking _smirked_ up at him, and gave him that little twirl before she disappeared into the elevator, beckoning him with one curled index finger.

He didn't follow. He wouldn't let her win this. Even if he might burst up in flames before the week was over.

Yet, that night, when he got more photos from the inside of her room, it took all his willpower to not jump through the overhead window and scale the building, until he could slip through the small balcony attached to hers and fuck her into next week. Her window would be three rooms and three floors to the left, seen from the water pipes along the exterior wall of the west side of the hotel – he hadn't even needed to actively figure that out, it was just something that his mind had done all on its own.

He didn't do it.

The next night, however, it was even worse, the sight of her almost immobilizing him he was pulled so taught. He was so relieved when he got called where she couldn't follow.

"Chiba," Hasegawa, one of his superiors, had yelled across the staff room. "Washoku order for terrace number four!"

He'd exhaled, pushed the metal cart into the service elevator, laden with the smaller boiled, marinated, and pickled side dishes, the plates of sashimi, the steaming iron bowl with the broth, covered with its thick wooden lid, the bowl of rice.

Terrace number four was one of the hot spring areas reserved for men, and serving washoku with all its courses would take about two hours.

He almost dropped the first tray, when he found her naked in the tiled tub, her chin resting on her crossed arms over the rim of it, when he stepped through the curtains, her hair piled atop her head in a single, messy, thick bun, ringlets of hair framing her face that escaped it and curled against her face.

She was illuminated by the nightfall, and the vapor that rose from the scalding water and sat like clouds in the thick, humid air, and he almost choked, because it was the single most enticing sight he'd ever seen.

"This is the men's area, Usako," he groaned.

She shrugged one way too attractive, way too wet, way too naked shoulder at him. "I was a man when I came _in_ here," she said, and at his frown, unlaced one hand from their crossed position, and held up a pink pen topped with a thick, red jewel.

He sighed, puffed his breath into the steamy air, felt his brow pool with sweat from the humidity.

She'll use that transformation pen for _anything_.

"How could you have known it would be me?!" he hissed, and she shrugged again.

Again, with that infuriating smile. "What if I didn't?" she replied, cocking her head.

His eyes widened, and then flashed.

He dropped the first tray of entrés before her on the matte stone tiles and turned to leave with the cart.

"Hey!" Usagi shrieked. "I paid for two hours!"

He set his jaw, studiously looked into her eyes and not the swell of her breasts where it peaked from the surface of the water. "I'm supposed to wait behind the curtain until you're finished with the first course," he growled out. "Or rather, until Murata-san, room 512, is finished with the first course."

"Well, we're not having that," she said, one side of her lips pulling into a half-smile, and he had half a mind to call Minako and yell at her for giving her the kind of advice in looks that could only come from her, because Usagi had never done this before, had never tormented him like this before.

She waved her hand towards the small, ornate, wicker stool at the side of the tiled tub, motioning for him to sit.

"It's not how this works," he ground out, and had to shift, because upon moving, her chest had lifted and one nipple hovered exactly on the surface of the water, erect and stiff and he groaned in frustration.

He looked over his shoulder, checking that no one was here, even when he knew there couldn't be, but just to make sure.

"Well, what if I need more tea?" she asked innocently.

"You're in a hot tub, Usako," he countered.

"Well, I need tea," she said, and he rolled his eyes, but moved to the cart and filled one small, ceramic cup with green tea, and this time, he knew better than to come close to the water, instead, he set it a little farther away from her place with his arm reaching out far, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

She pouted. And as always, that pout did more to him than any sexy smile ever could.

He groaned, throwing his frustrated hands into the air, but settled down onto the wicker stool, and told himself it was only so he could act in case someone came to check on Murata-san that he stayed, and nothing else.

She beamed at him in triumph and leaned over the rim of the tub to pick up her chopsticks.

Tsukino Usagi never ate so slowly, or sensually, as she had that night, and at one point, Mamoru had started fixating on that one crack in the wall studiously and humming to himself in his mind to distract himself from the way it went straight to his groin.

Not that it helped. Usagi had made sure, all week, that his boner was a painful, constant staple while she was here.

"It's not gonna work," he said again, sometime during her third course, and she only hummed the kind of amused, 'Uh huh,' that he usually gave her, and not the other way around.

It was dessert that did him in, or rather, the fact that for it, she suddenly stepped from the water, stark naked, and he nearly fell off his stool when she reached behind him, dripping wet, her warm skin almost glowing against the cooled night air, and peeled the macha ice cream from the small cooler on the cart.

And the way she'd flashed that grin at him, when he'd shuddered as she reached across him, and he'd leant forward, not away.

Usagi had never had any shame or qualms about being naked. She'd saved the world being naked.

But he still became a fumbling, flushed, aroused mess whenever she so unashamedly was. And she was very much aware of that fact.

And so, she sat across from him, nude, ringlets of hair tumbling down her wet skin, flushed from the heat of the tub, and started licking at her little cone, legs crossed one over the other while she was surrounded in thick steam from the hot water, eyes never leaving his, and his pants fucking _hurt_ him, because this was too much.

He sat frozen, eyes at her tongue, the stiff peaks of her nipples, the curve of her hips, the little droplet of water that ran from her collarbone down between the valley of her breasts, and she held his gaze, smirking through his fucking heart attack.

He'd pretty much been there already, but this was exciting in a way that made him painfully hard at a speed that must be entirely unhealthy.

And then the cone was gone, and she still held his gaze, and brought a hand to the messy bun atop her head, and with a flick of her wrist, golden hair tumbled down her back and shoulders and chest and he felt like he needed to scream because how could she use her _hair_ against him.

He crossed his arms, clenched his fists so hard his fingernails were digging painfully into the skin of his palms, held his breath and clenched his eyes shut, in order to keep himself rooted to the spot, because he was not going to let her win this one.

But his eyes flew open in a gasp, when her weight pressed onto his lap, and her eyes were suddenly so close now and her breath puffed against his lips, and he dug his fingers into her bum as if in reflex, groaning pitifully. His groan died and choked, when she snaked her hand into his pants and drew him out, and the air hit hardened skin and glistening, weeping tip and he was about to die.

And then he did fall off the stool, because she got off his knees and onto her own before him, and he did something close to howling, maybe shrieking, maybe crying, when her lips touched the tip of him, and he fell painfully when someone inside and behind the curtains opened the door and asked if he needed anything else.

This time, it had been Usagi who'd reacted faster. She zipped him up, and with a flick of her pen she was dressed and had hopped over the low stone wall and made her way to what he assumed was the women's terraces, and he was left behind to shout across the room in a shaky voice that he was only cleaning up, and that yes, Murata-san had enjoyed the meal very much.

His reputation, however, took another blow that night, because Mamoru returned that night drenched entirely in steam and sweat and with a giant boner that wouldn't go away that Nakamura couldn't help but notice that night in the bunk bed. And hadn't Chiba waited on that older dude from Room 512 all night?

But Mamoru had somehow, along the way, started to stop caring. Instead, he kept frowning at the underside of Nakamura's mattress.

' _You did know it would be me, didn't you?_ ' he texted, a little while later, concerned.

Her reply came immediately.

 _Usako, 11:03 pm.  
Of course, I did._

He exhaled in relief.

* * *

The beginning of his downfall was a different run in, in a different corridor, on the next day. It had obviously been planned by her, but he didn't end up caring in the least, because he hadn't seen her all morning, and even though it was simply because she'd decided to sleep in, _not_ having her tormenting him in her swimsuit was even worse than having her tormenting him in her swimsuit.

He didn't even put up a fight this time. Instead, when her lips connected with his before either of them had even said as much as a hushed greeting, and her teeth pulled on his lower lip in that way he _knew_ she knew drove him wild, he jabbed his elbow against the handle of the nearest door and pulled her into the supply cabinet before anyone could see, and pushed his hands into the cheap hotel yukata which she wore absolutely _nothing_ beneath, and his lips and teeth against her neck, and had her keening even way before he'd grasped one nipple between his thumb and index finger, the one that had taunted him so last night in the water, rolling it until she trembled and arched her neck even further.

He could feel the smug victory in her every push and pull, in the way one of her hands clawed into his hair and the other into his crisp, stuffy shirt and pulled him closer, even when he pressed her back against the door and wedged his leg into her yukata and in between her thighs, as he kissed the side of her face, her neck, her mouth, her shoulders, her arms in open-mouthed, frantic kisses.

And when she bucked against his leg, moving against the expensive, black trousers of his waiter's uniform in erratic movements and with those almost desperate, mewling little moans of hers, the kind she only ever made when she was as turned on as he currently felt, he didn't even remember what the problem with this situation ever was, and she got him. One hand at the back of her neck as he crushed his lips to hers, his other hand was already fumbling with his zipper, to the low, triumphant 'Yesss', that she hissed almost soundlessly right into his ear.

... And then the door opened forcefully and his ears turned red and he fell, clutching at her so she fell on top of him and he could both cushion her fall and hide the open front of her yukata from view - and his colleague's face – one of the youngest ones, from the room next to his – flushed a deep crimson and he mumbled and apologized.

But Mamoru saw the wide-eyed, lingering look at him as his hands flew to fix his fly, before the boy scurried off.

That's it, he'll lose his job.

…And yet, somehow, it turned even worse, because his colleague didn't snitch, instead, by the time he'd gotten midway through his shift, the rumor went around that Chiba Mamoru fucks guests in the utility closet, and doesn't he have a girlfriend at home? And Usagi fucking GLOATED in it.

It was, however, the same night that he broke. If they were all saying it, anyway, well then… Plus, he wasn't going to get a third chance anyway. Boss had said that already. And fuck that money.

He didn't even try to change out of his work wardrobe. After all, his girlfriend had announced she wanted to fuck him in it, and who was he to deny her?

And so, after one particularly racy sneer by one of his colleagues, he simply walked off.

He could see the blushing glances of his colleagues, when he walked into the guest elevator where he didn't belong, instead of into the basement where the staff rooming was located, pushed the elevator to the third floor of the guest rooms, and this time, didn't even blush. Walked down the corridor and knocked on the door.

Her smirk was still gloating, when she opened.

* * *

 _So, I call this one: Sexual Frustration: The Fic ; ) And, yes, I'm totally mean ending it there xD_

 _And, because consent is important to me, and this is exactly my real life line of work, a note on it: There is a fine line between sexy coaxing and coercion, and I tried to walk it while staying on the positive side of it. What Usagi tried to do here was chip away at his inhibitions, mostly by tempting him, but at no time did she try to force sexual desire or willingness in him that wasn't already there. It was the context for him, not the desire – he was a big walking boner of willingness, just, y'know, didn't wanna lose his job for it. And while this side of coaxing can be very thrilling between two people, it's always important to make sure both partners are sexually consenting while this happens ; )_

 _And now I leave you to imagine what happened after that door closed behind them, and I hope you had only half as much fun reading this as I had writing it ; ) Please let me know what you thought! (And if you're uncomfortable commenting on smut, there is the anonymous guest review option ; ) ) You'll make my day in reviews!  
_


	5. Lick Me Till Ice Cream

Lick Me Till Ice Cream

Established Relationship PwP in the Lemon Tree Series, Written for Smutember 2019.

* * *

 _It's smutember you guys! So here, have some VERY plotless porn without plot to start this month out. I'll have another fic for you out within the week! So, settle in, enjoy this plotless ride, and celebrate sex-positivity with me!_

* * *

"So, what should we do later?" Usagi asked Mamoru in her most suggestive voice as she accepted her ice cream cone from the vendor and stepped away from the cart. "We could go finish that movie, _or_ …"

She trailed off, tilted her face up, batted her eyelashes, she _tried_. (It was a little hard against the hot, harsh sun, and she might have blinked a bit too much. Maybe.)

Mamoru barely gave her a glance (instead he glanced at her ice cream as she lifted it to her mouth) and gave her that sweet but indulgent smile and shrugged his pretty shoulder. "Whatever you want, Usako…"

She huffed into her ice cream.

That's how it had been all day.

For someone who had been in a relationship as long as her, Usagi really was remarkably horrible at flirting.

She witnessed Minako at it all the time – the sultry looks, the funny and completely inappropriate texts that were so shockingly suggestive they ALWAYS got the job done. The way Minako could make even all the GIRLS (including her) flush from zero to one hundred with just a smirk and a twitch of her eyebrow and that little hum she did when she looked you up and down and gave the verdict 'yum'.

Usagi really couldn't do that.

Though not for lack of trying. Especially today.

Today, she wanted it all. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the fact that he looked so ridiculously pretty with that hair failling into his eyes and that white T-shirt and the sunglasses and that stupidly attractive curve of his lips, but today she wanted the impossible. Wanted a Mamo-chan that she could knock out with just a look. (She knew it was a steep goal, she _knew_ that.)

It wasn't even a special day. Just a normal Saturday. Mamoru had picked her up from home after breakfast because for once she _hadn't_ spent the night in his small one-bedroom apartment, and because she didn't have a shift at Osa-P today, they went shopping.

(One year – just _one_ year to go and he was done with university and they could afford to move in together!)

But she was on a mission. She wanted to flirt the pants off her long-term boyfriend if it was the last thing she did. Wanted him to combust with want. So, what if they've been together for over 5 years? She could do this. She could!

She couldn't.

Throughout, she'd tried everything.

She did all the things Minako did. Baring her throat a little, standing a bit too close, brushing her finger against the inside of his wrist. The small things. She wore that thin, loose, white cotton shirt he liked, and she wore it in a way that her bralette peaked out juuuust that tiny bit on the side but in a way that was still modest in the harsh summer heat, and she wore it to her thin, colorful, high-waisted swing skirt that made her waist look amazing and her legs even more so. She looked super cute! She'd small-talked with and smiled widely at the cashiers in the shops to maybe make him just that tiny bit jealous, and she'd undressed him with her eyes at every corner, crossed her legs slowly whenever she could, touched her lips often, all of it.

He hadn't reacted. Just that blank, dark, lingering stare.

She was beginning to think he thought she might be possessed or something.

As one of her last resorts she'd taken him _lingerie_ shopping.

He'd patiently waited outside of the changing cubicle on the pink, plush ottoman, stupid-sexy legs folded primly one over the other, and when she'd asked through the door if he wanted her to model the one she liked for him, he'd called in that he was good, and if she liked it, they'd just get it.

Taking one long, frustrated lick of her ice cream, she followed him around the corner, away from the hustle, and towards home, sweat and frustration pooling at the nape of her neck.

One corner more, and it instantly grew silent, just the cicadas and the asphalt and the heat and a few parked, dark cars and a dog barking somewhere far away.

While they walked, footsteps clicking on the ground in rhythmic, synchronized dull thuds, her handbag was hanging from his gorgeous wrist along with the two slender paper bags that held his new books and the new volume of her currently favorite manga, as well as the scorned new pair of failed-seduction underwear.

She wrecked her brain for more Minako pick-up starters and settled on one last attempt.

"You know, I dreamt of you last night," she said, tilting her head and her ice cream at him and watching him over the top of it, licking slowly bottom to top.

He nodded, shaded pretty blue eyes turned to her, blank and staring, completely unaffected.

"I know… You already told me this morning."

She sighed hard. Right. Oh man.

And she couldn't even be mad. Because even though it was absolutely not working at _all_ , he'd been completely patient and sweet, and his sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose and made him look stupidly attractive and _argh_.

She pouted into her ice cream, hopped in front of him, making him stop right in the middle of this alley with a start, and fixed him with a glare.

"If you could be doing anything with me right now, what would it be?" she asked, eyebrows feeling fierce on her face.

He slid his sunglasses to the top of his head (it made his hair look a little disheveled and it's so _unfair_ that it looked so good), and just fixed her with that long, calculating look again. The one with the dark eyes and the impassive stare he'd looked at her all day with.

She threw him a long, irritated look that he returned with that complete blank expression, willing him to at least react a _little_ , but he didn't.

Her look slipped into a sigh and she lifted her cone back to her mouth for a pouty suck.

And so she was completely surprised, when - that same unemotional, dark look still in his eyes - he grabbed her wrist, halting her ice cream just inches away from her opened mouth, her waiting tongue, and bodily backed her into a wall.

Except it wasn't a wall. It was a tiny nook. The wall was next to her. Behind her were the backs of a row of tall, metallic, _humming_ vending machines, and the shadowed back of them was cool.

She bumped with her back off the surprisingly pleasantly temperated metal, Mamoru towering over her, and looked at him in wide-eyed surprise.

His dark eyes didn't leave hers at all when he bent down, his hand locked around her wrist, to lick at her ice cream where it had dripped onto her fingers.

She nearly dropped it in shock (of course she didn't. It was still food. Food was holy. But, ya know.)

Up close, with his hair falling into his eyes and bent down to gaze at her so, so… _sultry_ , she finally saw his expression wasn't blank _at all._

He took his time, his tongue sticking out and carefully licking between her fingers, lifting her hand by her wrist like she had her cone, tilting it, licking along the rim of her cone only to catch the drops that melted down onto her hand.

When she tucked her ice cream back down, wide-eyed (when had her heart started _hammering_?) his mouth and his eyes followed, and they turned a shade darker even when she bent forward.

Never in her life had she been as conscious of her own tongue leaving her mouth as when she let it free to lick her captured ice cream bottom to top just now.

He hovered. Close. Her wrist in his tight, tight grip.

"Do that again," he breathed, and his voice was so low that it did two things: One, it went in a straight and direct line to wake up every single bit of lady parts she owned that hadn't already been on high alert all day, pooling wet in her panties and making her bra _itch_ against her nipples and, two, it finally allowed her to notice that not only had he backed and pressed her _completely_ against the back of these vending machines, his knee was also firmly between her thighs.

And so, obviously, she couldn't do anything but obey the breathy command and licked her ice cream again. This time even slower, her tongue wider, catching more of the milky treat.

"Hmmm," he hummed, low and guttural and she swore he was operating on a frequency that sent directly to her vagina.

"Again," he ordered, eyes glued to her tongue.

She swallowed, thick and hard, the cool cream running hot down her throat, ran her teeth across her lower lip to catch what lingered there, then let her tongue slide past her lips again, eyes stuck to his, and licked, long and flat and slow up her cone.

He _moaned_.

And before her tongue was back in her mouth his other hand was on her chin and he tilted her up and, before their lips even met, his tongue stroked into her mouth, slid wet and rough and insistent against her tongue and stole from her.

The action shot through her body so hard she thought she might have become one singular, melting throb. All she could do was exhale one harsh, pitiful whimper and follow his lips when he retreated from her just that fraction – and whimpered again, one dying, chortled noise produced somewhere between her nose and her throat, when she saw his lips where stained slightly in the color of her ice cream.

Her chin was still in his hand, and while the other had left her wrist to stem against the metal behind her head, boxing her in, he peered down at her with his eyes the shade of arousal and his tongue peeking out to clean his lips of her food and _holy damn_ —

"You're driving me crazy today," his too low voice said too slowly, chin tilting slightly up and his eyes jumping to her trembling lips as she breathed out harshly.

"You…" She tried to control her breathing. She _tried_. "You really didn't let on…"

He raised both eyebrows at her, as if she was being ridiculous, as if he'd been all sorts of obvious, and then he leant forward again and licked one long stroke up her ice cream.

"Keep eating," he rasped, and then he _slid to his knees._

Her mouth popped open, and before he'd even made it down an inch, she must have jerked wildly, because the vending machine behind her rattled and donged when her elbow jerked against it.

He lowered himself down painfully slowly, those dark and dangerous and unfair eyes looking up and staying on her face, the delicious pressing weight of his hands gliding down her body until they rested at the hem of her skirt – and then they glided _up_ and beneath and what the _fuck_ —

"Mamo-chan?!" she whisper-shouted in a tone clearly meant to say 'have you gone insane', or 'have you forgotten where we are', or 'have you forgotten who _you_ are'?!

But he held her gaze, kept the smirk, just lifted an eyebrow as if in challenge, and his palms spread across her legs and then they were on the insides of her knees and _shit_ —

"Eat!" he reminded her again, but his eyes were full of amusement, and what was left of her ice cream was dripping.

The slightest pressure and she melted, and his hands were brushing up the insides of her thighs and spreading her apart, still that look of challenge in his eyes.

Her thighs were scalding hot on the inside, clearly demonstrated by the way his hands on them were surprisingly cool, and it felt like she was catching fire.

Her ears were ringing, her mouth was agape, her eyes were wide. Mamoru – _Mamoru_ – was about to go down on her in a deserted alley tucked behind a row of vending machines. The guy who sometimes blushed when she attempted to give him a tiny peck on the escalator.

Right. She knew what was up. He was probably fully expecting her to make him stop.

Well, no, no. If he played that game, she wasn't gonna lose.

But his eyes didn't flash in surprise when, instead of clamping her legs shut, she mutely unlocked her knees and let him open her right up. His smirk just turned a little wider – and she was reminded with a start that this wasn't only her sometimes very overtly prissy Mamo-chan, this was also Tuxedo Mask. Rose-throwing, corny speech-holding, on-tall-things-standing, makes-an-entrance, flamboyant, over-the-top Tuxedo Mask.

On his knees. Under her skirt. Behind a vending machine. In the middle of the day.

She swallowed, and to his pointed stare, she lifted her cone back to her lips, and he gave a self-satisfied, infuriating little nod.

And then she accidently pushed her whole lower lip into her ice cream and made unintelligible, protesting yet way too eager sounds because his thumb was underneath her skirt and between her legs and brushing along her panties, his head tilting at her in amusement.

It was unfair of course; he was too good at this. His hands too careful and delicate and unobtrusive even when he literally had his hands on her bloody crotch, and his thumb did that light brush up and down the patch of fabric that covered her that he'd practiced to perfection in the past. She had no chance.

She whimpered into her ice cream. She was pretty sure there was some on her nose now, and she licked her lips, only to be followed by a squeak, when strong hands grabbed around her knee and she would have fallen if she weren't in the safest hands on Earth, and instead was bodily steadied against this metal box when he lifted one of her legs and draped it across his shoulder, his hand spread around her thigh.

And then his breath was on her panties and his thumb pressed against her entrance above the damp fabric and the back of her head painfully hit against the vending machine.

She held her breath, vanilla melting on her tongue and down her hand, and his hand slipped into the seam of her panties, just one, long, elegant finger of him, carefully pried it aside, and then his lips wrapped slowly, carefully, delicately around her clit.

Apparently, Mamoru had decided today was as good a day as any to kill her.

Her eyes popped open in surprise – and really it should not have been surprising, given she'd intimately seen the way his tongue had made love to her ice cream just before, that his mouth would be cold, and yet it was.

It was, at first, the kind of soft, innocent, sweet peck he'd sometimes greet her with, the kind of kiss he'd say hello with, the kind he'd withdraw from with the softest smile, and when he settled back on his heels and let her clit go, she just knew he was doing the same.

She couldn't keep the whimper from escaping. It fell past her lips even when she was biting down on it hard, and when he bent forward again, she could feel the smirk against her.

His tongue was even colder than his lips, and she exhaled harshly into her shaking cone, and died a small death when Mamoru's tongue licked the same kind of stroke up her slit, bottom to clit, that he'd just licked her ice cream with.

If anyone would have walked into the alley, chanced a look behind the next corner to see who was making these obscene noises, they would have found a guy on his knees with his tongue against a girl's vagina while she cried into an ice-cream cone with her skirt bunched up around her hips, and somehow this was probably simultaneously the weirdest and best thing that ever happened to her.

Anyone could have seen. But she couldn't care, because his _tongue_.

His tongue found a rhythm, licked her in a way that almost felt as if he was cleaning her out and he was as meticulous as ever to not miss a spot, licked carefully around the edges of the oversensitive nerves of her entrance but never allowing his tongue to dip in, up her lips and running, slowly, achingly from her entrance to just below her clit before circling it and going back. It was slow, delicious, frustrating torture.

Bottom to top, bottom to top. Just like her ice cream.

Her pink-polished toes curled in her sandals in an almost cramping way and her free hand found his scalp and fisted into his hair, knocking his sunglasses right off, pulling, pushing him further against her.

He got the hint, and when his lips finally wrapped around her clit again, it wasn't just a peck this time, it was a hard, strong suck that smacked noisily and made her even wetter just from the bloody sound of it.

She whimpered, but even when his hand that held her thigh so very securely snapped up to softly slap at her hand in his hair because apparently she was gripping too hard, he pressed his tongue flat against her clit, swirling, swirling, and then sucked again.

She loosened her hold on his hair with cramping fingers, yet the moan this time was visceral, and turned into one of sudden grief, because her cone fell ice-cream-first onto the grey asphalt with a dull, smacking splash.

"Nooo!" she wailed, but it died in her throat, because his chuckle sent delightful vibrations through where it was attached to her clit.

"I'll buy you a new one," he told her crotch, thumb hooked into her panties, tongue licking back down her slit.

She began to lose it when he started to nibble at her lips and back up to her clit, and moved his thumb to swirl around the nerves just below the entrance of her vagina, up and over it and dipping in just that bare second, just that bare minimum, before dipping back out and swirling around again, fingers slick with her.

Oh wow. Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.

His swirling thumb at her vagina, his tongue back on its course licking hard from her entrance to the hood of her clit, over and over, and her thigh started to shake and her inner walls started to flutter and her face was out of her control and her balance in immediate jeopardy.

She came with a harsh grunt and eyes squeezed shut and her lower back arching off the vending machine wall even when his hand had shot up and away from her sex to forcefully push her hip into the metal so she wouldn't fall.

She exhaled harshly, eyes shooting open and disbelieving into the blue, blue sky above, and his tongue was still licking, now slower – licking her clean.

Several moments in which he lazily stroked his tongue against her slit, her lips, and now it was a caress, and she sighed and looked down and her smile must have looked love-struck and stupid and drowzy had he been to look up, and she stroked her hand against his soft, soft hair.

And then she jolted when she heard footsteps and laughter near the alley, and his head shot out from under her skirt. It fluttered down and back to her knees when he jumped up and grabbed their bags and her hand to pull her out of the nook, and within a second, it looked like nothing had happened weren't it for her unsteady legs.

Except it had, ridiculously surreal as it was, and she was half convinced it couldn't have, except Mamoru was looking at her with a smirk that was so outrageously _smug_ all while wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand and fucking _winking_ at her as he pulled her along.

Halfway there she still wasn't done contemplating if this meant she was better at flirting than she thought or if _he_ was, and a little longer and she realised he was taking her back to his place and not to hers.

"Hey!" she called out once she did, jerking them to a halt.

"What?!" He blinked.

"Ice cream!" she scolded. "You promised me a new one!"

He chuckled even when he rolled his eyes, and ultimately, he turned them into the nearest conbini.

She got a tub of it this time. With sprinkles. To take home and eat off of him. ( _His_ suggestion. Wtf.)

(She really didn't know _what_ it was that had worked so well today to have _this_ result, but she was going to find out what it was one way or another, so she could do it forever.)

* * *

 _For all of you who aren't usually on tumblr: I'm on there with my usual penname and I'll be reblogging everyone's smutember contributions, so check them out, too! This fic right here was written for the 'Established Relationship' trope, and because the world needs more cunnilingus._

 _Anyway. Statistically seen cunnilingus it the surest way to ensure a female orgasm. Sadly, it's not at all normalized quite in the same way that blow jobs are. Which we can totally change. So there._

 _Also, forever thanks to my beta Uglygreenjacket who will have to beta a whole lot of smut this month for me. Sorryyyy._


	6. Tequila Makes Your Clothes Fall Off

_So, here's another late Smutember Week 2 addition for you! The trope I used for this is, quite obviously, Intoxication/In Vino Veritas._

 _Thank you to Uglygreenjacket, who looked over this for me literally after a long full day of work-on-a-weekend and absolutely last minute. You're my hero!_

 _Anyway, have fun with this, and I'd love to hear what you think of it!_

* * *

Tequila Makes Your Clothes Fall Off

A Short Story In The Lemon Tree Series Written For Smutember 2019

* * *

Usako, 11:55 pm  
Can you come pick me up?

Mamoru, 11:56 pm  
Of course.  
Is everything ok?

* * *

The bike stopped with a low rumble underneath him and he kicked his leg out to climb off it. Even from the street he could hear the low thrum of the base and the cacophonic murmur of plenty of voices in a small space. Finding her would not be hard today.

It had only taken him precisely 11 minutes to get here, most of Usagi's (now former) classmates tended to live more or less close by after all. He didn't even know which ex-classmate it was this time who threw their seemingly never-ending parade of graduation parties.

He'd stopped accompanying her to these after the third of them, much to Usagi's dismay.

This one was held at a small restaurant a few of them had rented, if he remembered Usagi's excited chatter correctly, and sure enough, the music and noise came from a small hut of a restaurant, the lighting inside shining dim and orange and glowing, the glass door entirely fogged up from the inside.

A bell rattled when he opened it, and a wave of body heat and smells and hormonal euphoria and _so much noise_ greeted him in a cloud of bombarding sensation all at once, that had it not been for the fact he had the most important person in the world to collect here, he would have stepped back out the doorstep and turned away immediately.

Instead, he braved the crowd and weaved pretty much unnoticed between shouting, laughing, dancing, chatting people, stopping only briefly in surprise and shock when he spotted Umino without his glasses and somewhat of a _look_ , and then continued on. He avoided a boy, one head shorter than him, carefully and clumsily carrying a fresh tray of shots who had almost collided with him, a girl that took one look at him and approached him immediately, and _Minako_ , who was dancing on a table with a somewhat lanky guy with way too much stubble and no coordination.

He found Makoto deep in conversation with a group of people he only vaguely recognized, and one hug in greeting later he was pointed up towards the second floor.

The stairs were lined with orange glowing tea candles in rice paper bags and he briefly wondered how none of these could have caught fire yet with so much alcohol in the room, when he finally spotted two golden hair buns atop the most adorable being in the universe.

She looked good enough to _eat_ , in those knee-high socks and short tight skirt. Leaning against a pillar, she was chatting with two boys he didn't know (or rather being chatted _at_ ), her smile equal parts sweet and dazed and waving a glass that was barely a quarter full anymore and still managing to slosh clear, amber liquid all over the place.

He walked over in two strides, caught hold of her flushed, too warm, too pink cheeks and held her face up towards him a little, checking for any… he didn't even know what he was checking for. Why she'd texted him to get here even though she was supposed to stay at Makoto's with the girls afterwards, he supposed.

The boys jumped a little apart, one of them saying something in a more or less raised voice that started with a 'Hey!' and that he absolutely ignored, and Usagi's smile slipped into beaming territory and she snuggled her face against his hands before he'd even said anything to accompany his concerned glare.

"You ok?" he breathed.

She nodded with her eyes closed and her lips pulled into a dopey smile, and she grabbed at his shirt and pulled him down to her lips and he realized two things.

She was absolutely fine, and she was out of her head drunk.

"I am now," she purred at his lips at the same time as he lifted up his hands from her cheek, holding them up in surrender, and drew forcefully back from her hold before their lips touched.

"Usako," he scolded.

She fell back on her heels, pouting, and swayed a little too much.

He shot out a hand to steady her, took her sloshing drink from her and placed it on the nearest surface – a low shelf littered in more fire-hazard tea candles – with a heavy thud, and rolled his eyes.

Right. He should have known. Of _course_ –

He only registered dimly that the boys she'd been talking to had taken one look at them and went off with matching blushes, and pursed his lips when he caught the end of what one said to the other. '— terrible wingman. Should have known she has someone.'

Her pout didn't stay. Instead, her lips curled back up into that seductive little smile that was known to do him in, and even when he was shaking his head slowly, his arms going up a little higher and taking a step back, she followed and curled around him, her arms snaking around his form and her temptress-fingers stroking against the hem of his pants just above his belt before fully slipping underneath his shirt.

He nervously looked around, absolutely alarmed. There were so many _people_ here.

" _Again_?" he asked, frustrated.

She shrugged coyly and moved back up to her tiptoes.

He stubbornly remained upright.

 _He should have known._

This was the fourth time she'd done this now.

They hadn't been intimate for long – depending on how one defined intimate, of course – but they'd only recently taken the… the _step_ , and while she was more comfortable with anything intimate and sexual than he was as it was, it was all dialed up to a hundred when she drank.

Usagi was a horny drunk; he was learning this the hard way.

The first time had been just a few weeks before her graduation, when he'd once again taken her to Edward's annual ball. It had only been _days_ after they'd first had… after they'd first _done_ it, and while it obviously wasn't the first time she'd gotten more or less accidently drunk at this event, it was the first time she'd come on to him so strong he'd later had to… Well, take care of it in the shower.

He knew she'd been tipsy. Had noticed the way she drank those sweet cocktails down like juice, had noticed the lull in her voice and the pink hue to her cheeks and the glassy look in her eyes. But she'd giggled so cutely at him as they'd slow-danced, asked for one more song again and again, and when she turned half-lidded eyes up at him and coyly pulled at his hands to lead him out to the balcony, he'd been reminded of the first time he had ever asked her to dance, out alone on the pillary veranda at the Princess D ball.

He hadn't been prepared for the way she pushed him down onto the iron bench outside, straddled him, _ground against him_ , and then _bit at his ear_ , just after she'd whispered the bluntest, sexiest words in the lowest voice he'd ever heard her talk in right into his ear, both of which made him hard so fast it made him dizzy.

 _"_ _I'm dripping wet and I'd like your cock in me now. Can we do something about that?"_

He'd stood up so abruptly, flustered and embarrassed and _turned on_ , that she'd fallen off his lap with a shriek and then fell promptly right into a fit of giggles.

He'd asked Ami later to get her home.

The second time had been the day of her graduation. Haruka, Michiru and Setsuna had hosted a small party for the girls at their place in celebration, wined and dined them and kept filling up their glasses graciously, and by the time Haruka had started to play funk music on her hipster retro record player, Usagi had been so drunk she could barely stand.

She'd still pulled him into the bathroom, yanking at his belt, and told him she wanted to suck him until he screamed.

He'd nearly jumped out that window.

The third had been only _one day after that_ , in her _parent's house_ for god's sake, after her father had opened up a vintage bottle of Japanese whiskey and had happily made them drink it toast after toast, only half-jokingly exclaiming that he hadn't been all that sure the day of Usagi's high school graduation would ever really come.

And _that day_ , her parent's drunken giggling in the living room, when she'd bypassed him once more on the way back from the bathroom and pressed him into the wall of her hallway and her tongue into his mouth, and told him he could ' _put it in wherever you want_ ', while pulling at his shirt, he'd almost been too drunk to stop her this time.

Almost.

He fled and _cried_ in the shower later, shaking and stroking and falling apart, he was so turned on.

He took a wary, wide-eyed step back, her hands falling away from underneath his shirt in the process, and willed his traitorous erection down.

 _She's drunk,_ he reminded himself over and over. _It's not right._

But the glint in her eye was there and she stepped right back into his personal space, and when she reached up this time, he bent down.

"You're drunk," he whispered against her temple.

"Mhmm," she hummed towards his lips. "And I want you."

His eyes flicked across the crowd. A few people were watching them. Some amused, some more or less uninterested, most people in their own worlds. The two boys from before were watching openly.

He put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back down a little. "I'll drive you home, now, Usako."

Her eyes were that determined, sexy hue and her lips pulled up on just one side, and she leaned back up despite his hands on her shoulder and _sniffed at his throat._ "Hmm. Drive me to your place, instead," she hummed.

And then her hands travelled lower, since he wouldn't let her lean up, and before they could touch his crotch, he jerked his hips away from her, startled and flustered and blushing.

He managed to hip-check someone passing behind him, and he whirled around apologizing, and so did Usagi, calling the guy by his name, acting absolutely naturally and sweet, as if she hadn't just tried to touch him in a room full of people, or if that was completely normal.

He swallowed, and tugged on her to get her away, if he couldn't keep her from trying to grope him in public.

"Let's get you home so you can sleep this off," he ground out, and weaved her between a group of people towards the stairs.

"But I'd rather want you to fuck me, Mamo-chan," she said with a _way too sweet_ and completely inapropriately demure pout in her voice.

He flushed to the tips of his ears. She'd said it in her normal speaking voice. Not way too loud, but loud enough that two groups of people around them heard and whirled their heads around. They'd _heard_. The flush travelled up to the roots of his hair when the first wolf-whistle sounded. Someone shouted 'get him, Tsukino!' followed by loud woots.

He ducked his head, gripped her hand, and pulled her down the stairs.

In passing through the lower level of the rented restaurant, he waved at Makoto upon dragging Usagi out, with that kind of hand-wave and shoulder shrug and eyebrow action meant to indicate, 'You gonna be ok, here?' and she nodded, smiled, and waved her water bottle at him and he breathed a sigh of relief and an even deeper one when he opened that fogged up door back up, his girl under his arm, and breathed cool, stinky, but _calm_ Tokyo air.

And then he remembered the fact that he was here on his bike, and it would mean she'd be drunk and _pressed up against him_.

She gave a way too delighted gasp when she spotted it on the curb.

He swallowed, but went to extract her pink helmet from the case with wary fingers.

"You'll be home in about 10 minutes, Usako," he said.

"I don't have my keys," she said, voice too cheeky.

He didn't believe a word and threw her a glare.

"I don't!" she said with a grin, and lifted her arms, stepping back against him. "You can check my pockets." She grinned.

She didn't have pockets on this outfit.

"Where's your stuff, Usako," he grumbled down at her, leaning back against his bike when she stroked her hands up the sides of his thighs and bit her lip and _shit_ —

Swallowing took more work this time, and so did staying down.

"It's at Mako-chan's," she said with a shrug. "I was gonna stay at her place."

He was well aware of that.

"We'll just have to ring the doorbell, then."

Yeah, he was aware it was close to 1 am now. And he _liked_ that her parents liked him. But… he _couldn't_ —

"Mama and Papa are on their wedding anniversary trip," she said.

Shit. He knew that.

"Shingo, then," he croaked.

"At Mika's."

 _Shit_.

He exhaled harshly when her fingers travelled up his chest and underneath his leather jacket to travel up his sides.

"I like you in this," she purred.

"It's because of the bike." He hissed when her hands travelled back down and back front and so slowly down his abs.

"I'd also like you out of it," she hummed.

He groaned.

And then she blinked back up at him and pouted that pretty red _inviting_ mouth and she was _drunk_ and it was _wrong_.

"Get me in your bed now, please?" she cooed.

It was wrong. It was wrong it was wrong it was wrong. And yet he weaved them through the calm streets of bright, nighttime Tokyo to his apartment after all, and didn't manage to ignore the way her hands clutched at him a little too sensuously, and the way she pressed herself against him, and the gap between those thigh-high socks and her ridden up skirt.

It was wrong. And yet, when he killed the engine in front of his apartment complex and she hadn't moved yet, he found his hand pressed into her thigh, right at that gap, and her hand travelled lower and cupped the painfully hard bulge in his pants.

He shivered – a full body shiver –and helplessly looked up into the dark sky and bit his lip because shit it felt _good_ , and with a low moan allowed himself 4 more seconds of her torture until he wrenched himself free.

Wrong wrong wrong. She's _drunk_ , you douche.

The thought drove himself home and made him feel even more like a pervert when she had obvious trouble getting off his bike, all her klutz enhanced and she nearly faceplanted onto the asphalt over her feet, had he not grabbed her upper arms and held her aloft.

She giggled just that little too much.

But then she leaned against the wall in the elevator on the opposite side of the stall, eyes half-lidded and blatantly checking him out as she bit her lip and gave a little moan, and he had to keep from whimpering because how the hell was this _fair_?

He was weak. He was so weak. And so, he cursed himself when he bridged the space between them, grabbed her by the back of her head and plunged his tongue into her mouth.

But the way she _mewled_. The way she melted in his arms and threw herself against him. The way she rubbed against him as if she wanted to climb up and stay there and swallow him whole, and when she curled her leg around him, and his palm was back at that _gap_ , his grip firm and clutching and his fingers not behaving and brushing underneath her skirt as he lifted her up by the thighs and up onto the handrail.

She moaned in that almost _obscene_ way right into his mouth, her tongue and lips frantic and wet and pliant and _deep_ , and he only came to his senses when she started grinding up against his erection, her legs wrapped firmly around his waist, her skirt ridden up almost all the way.

He would have dropped her would it not have been for her tight monkey hold on him, and prying her limbs and lips from him was almost an impossible task.

But he managed, gasping and bothered and flustered and _hard_.

"Mamo-chan," she whined.

It was then that he finally got why the stupid elevator hadn't moved. He hadn't pressed the button to his floor.

He cleared his throat and did just that and studiously stared at the aluminum wall even when she wrapped herself against his back, her exquisite little fingers reaching around and stroking up his belly.

Her quivered beneath her touch.

"Mamo-chan…"

Her voice was back to that low, seductive voice that worked too well.

Drunk. She's drunk.

And yet he barely made it through the door and she'd hopped up on him and he'd caught her, and collapsed against his wall. She'd started running the tip of her nose along his throat, his ear, inhaling in deep moans as she pressed her tongue against his neck and _bit_ and _sucked—_

And all he could do was helplessly jerk his hips and cup her ass with hands that were no longer listening to him and were all the way down her skirt.

"You're drunk," he pleaded with her, even when he slammed her onto his mattress and climbed on top of her, fully dressed, greedy hands kneading at her ass.

"I am," she agreed, and yanked at his jacket.

It thudded to the floor with a loud thud, followed by his shirt.

It was when her head was thrashing against his pillow and his fingers were in her mouth and she started babbling in that high whine to please get her out of these clothes and fuck her already, that he came back to himself and wrenched himself off of her.

Her grunt was _livid_.

"Mamo-chan!" she shouted after him, annoyed and frustrated, and lying on his bed with her hair disheveled and her thighs spread and her lips swollen.

He clutched his bathroom sink and panted heavily, pleading with his own reflection to just give him _strength_. And when that didn't help, he squeezed his eyes shut, mortified and embarrassed, fumbled with his belt and his zipper and started to rub himself to the mental image of disheveled golden hair, thighs spread in knee-high socks and pink, swollen lips.

His grip was hard and angry and unrelenting, his pace was furiously aggressive, and he spit into his hand and rubbed even harder, squeezing his tip until it wept.

It took pretty much only a minute until he came against the porcelain of his bathroom sink and watched the grit of his teeth and pained grunt of his own reflection as he did so.

He was embarrassed and ashamed but at least this way he could be _strong_ —

He stayed another few minutes. Cleaned himself up and calmed his breathing and his nerves and emerged fully prepared to fight her off.

But when he walked back out, braced and ready, she was snoring loudly on his bed, completely conked out. Mouth open, all limbs stretched away from her, one hand hanging off his bed and he couldn't help but snort.

He dressed her down to just her T-shirt, peeling off those knee-high socks with a soft smile, and then wrapped her up like a burrito. He dressed in his most comfortable pajamas, placed a glass of water for her on his nightstand and then snuggled in beside her.

It only took about 30 seconds to get a hand slapped in his face in her sleep, because Usagi was even more of a sleep hazard when she was drunk, his adorable gorilla of a girlfriend.

He drifted off to the smell of her hair and held her just a little tighter.

* * *

When she finally woke up fully, stretching and groaning and turning back into Mamoru's pillows to hide from the world just that little bit longer, she was somewhat surprised at her lack of headache and supposed it might have something to do with the Golden Crystal holder currently making her breakfast from the smell of it.

Her stomach growled loudly.

Yet she turned around, fell back asleep, and the next time she woke up, it was to Mamoru's hips shifting back into the bed and a big, steaming bowl of seasoned rice with more-runny-than-not eggs and grilled veggies and two spoons being thrust underneath her face.

She stretched groggily as he lifted one of the spoons and daintily brought it to his mouth.

She rolled onto her back, turned her head to glare at him before she rubbed her eyes and sat up, and then grabbed the other spoon, choosing not to comment on the fact that he was breaking his own no-eating-in-bed rule and dug in.

She moaned immediately. Why did this man have to be this hot _and_ a good cook when she was mad at him?

He was wearing those soft, thin pjs that hung off his hips in that delicious way, as well as his stupid sexy glasses, and carrying food, and he was unfair.

"We need to talk about this," he finally said, lifting his own spoon loaded with rice soaked especially much in the egg in the way she liked it best, cupping his other hand underneath and lifting it to her lips.

She was still glaring, but leaned in and opened wide, chewing with a pout.

"I agwee," she said with her mouth full.

He nodded, threw her a look. "Tell me what to do in these situations," he said.

She frowned, confused.

"Which situations?"

"You're sober now. Tell me what to do when you're intoxicated and come on to me like that and can't actually make rational decisions. I need a rulebook, here," he said seriously.

Her mouth dropped open and suddenly everything made sense.

"Wait!" She shot up in the bed and he stiffened and held the bowl a little tighter as she almost knocked it out of his hands in her sudden movement. "THAT'S what holds you up? Consent?"

She almost laughed, incredulous.

Here she'd been thinking god knows what and her darling of a boyfriend had just been a friggin decent man.

He looked at her as if she was being stupid. "Of course?!"

"I thought I had like disgusting alcohol breath or something! Or freaked you out too hard because in public and stuff!" she nearly shouted at him, shaking her spoon at him a little.

He looked appalled. "What?! No!"

"I thought you didn't want me like this! Or that I was acting in a way that turned you off, overstepping your boundaries!" she cried, almost mad again.

His brow furrowed. Absolutely confused. "You think I don't _want_ you when you get like that? Usako I—" he trailed off.

He shook his head. "Anyway," he changed the subject and she grumbled and stuck her spoon back into the bowl. "Tell me what to do when you're drunk and attempt to jump my bones in public, please. What I should and shouldn't do."

She wrapped her lips around the spoon and held it there when she swallowed. Pulled it back out with a little smack and wriggled it at him.

"So, you _did_ want me last night?"

She couldn't stick with the glare, because she loved it when the tips of his ears ran red like that, and his eyes became a little jumpy behind his glasses.

"Of course?! How could I not," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

She shifted closer. "Tell me about it," she said.

He threw her a look, his cheeks now coloring too. She didn't think he would answer, but then he awkwardly shrugged his shoulders and pushed his spoon around the bowl.

"You're…" he started, and she shifted even closer, almost practically into his lap. "It's…"

"It's…?" she prompted.

"The way you just _want_ me so much when you get like that? It's… irresistible. I drown. It's hard to resist."

 _Well don't fucking resist, then._

His voice was small, and he was watching his spoon the whole time, and she couldn't keep the stupidly pleased grin off her face.

But she bit her lip, grabbed his wrist, lifted his spoon-hand towards her own face and licked it clean.

His eyes jumped at her.

"So, as a general rule," she said, licking the underside of his spoon, moving it via his hand in hers, and then met his eyes.

"When I ask you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me."

He swallowed, visibly mesmerized by her lips and tongue and probably her words.

Her cinnamon roll of a decent man couldn't even _think_ the word sex, and yet he always reacted when she talked like that.

"I trust you with the subtleties," she concluded.

Then she took his spoon from his fingers, took the bowl from his lap to climb on it herself, set it back down in her own lap, and looked him straight in the eye as she took another mouthful.

"Understand?" she said, after slipping the spoon back out of her mouth ever so slowly.

He nodded mutely, wide-eyed and a little breathless.

She bent over and placed the bowl and spoons on his nightstand. Then she reached for his face and slipped his glasses off him and put them away, too.

"Well, then. How about we train that?" she breathed at his lips and he nodded again, his hands slipping to her hips and pulling her closer, her thighs spreading around his sides as she slid flush against him.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, slid her hand against his scalp and leaned in.

"I'd like you to fuck me, Mamo-chan," she breathed against his lips, eyes wide open and studying him.

He whimpered pitifully, yanked up her shirt, and did just that.

* * *

 _Anyway, so OBVIOUSLY this little fic could have a follow-up, now that he has his rulebook for future Usagi-is-a-horny-drunk situations, if you wanted one ;)_

 _Reviews are love!_


	7. Tsukink

_Here you go guys, here's my piece for Smutember Week 3, and the trope I used was 'Kink' – quite obviously! Thank you as always to my wonderful, wonderful beta Uglygreenjacket. Thank you for always taking time for me IMMEDITATELY, love. I appreciate it so much. Thanks also go to Antigone2 this time – this fic wouldn NOT have been the same without your suggestions and excitement! Thank you!_

 _ANYWAY: This is an established relationship fic, and as such, they'll have covered the topic of protection_ _ **long, long ago**_ _. Just assume she's on the pill, or has an IUD, or a contraceptive patch, or whatever you want to imagine they have tried out and settled on eventually! I'm not gonna mention it in this fic, for the simple reason that long-term-relationships don't talk about their contraception every time they have sex, but it's there!_

 _So, have fun! And please let me know what you thought!_

* * *

Tsukink

A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series, Written for Smutember 2019

* * *

The first day Usagi had stepped foot into the looming, tall Square Enix headquarters skyscraper in Shinjuku had had her heart pounding in her throat. The security guard outside wouldn't let her in at first, since she would only get her little employee badge later in the day, but one phone call later and she'd stood in an office full of people with phones and timetables and coffee that she would be working in from now on.

She'd spent that day meeting her new supervisor, someone else entrusted to show her the ropes and where the copy machine was, and she signed a ton of non-disclosure contracts before a few admins started setting up her shiny new Square Enix email account, login and pass codes, shared employer outlook diaries with her and more stuff she didn't know yet what she would need it for.

She felt good. This would be good. It was week one of Responsible Hard-Working Tsukino Usagi. She was in the working force before even Mamoru was!

And, cute burgundy paperbag-waist pants and black patent-leather ballet flats, she looked office-y and _cute_ goddammit, even if she didn't actually know what she was doing.

But making friends! She could do _that_!

She did that. Didn't take long. Day four in her first week and she knew most people's names and had accompanied tons of people on their coffee breaks and was now equipped with boyfriend's and wife's and kid's names and also brought Makoto's eclairs on the third day and won them all over with delicious custard filling.

And that was how she found herself in the small one of the office kitchens, trying to offer comfort to Nobu-kun who had broken up with his boyfriend that very morning of her fifth day of week one.

"I just… I couldn't keep taking it anymore. It was too much!" Nobu-kun sniffled into his coffee cup and she patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm so sorry!" Hanako from reception was trying to console. "There's really no chance it can work out?"

Nobu shook his head, sad and dejected, his fingers clamped tightly around his coffee cup.

"I understand it, though," Hachiro from recruiting was saying, his broad shoulders and chic, stern salaryman look contradicting his soft words. "I had an ex-girlfriend who was jealous like that, too. It couldn't work out."

Nobu nodded again. "Yesterday he freaked out in the middle of Uniqlo because I'd chatted with someone who worked there. I was just asking for the event shirts! He made a giant scene, everyone looked. He was fuming all throughout the night and all the way until this morning. It was just the last straw."

Usagi froze. She'd done that with Mamoru. Tons of times. Like that one time in the pet store, when all he did was help Fish-Eye-in-disguise with a cut, being the sweet, nice guy that he was.

And she'd been in the right. Fish-Eye _had_ been hitting on him, and even threatening Mamoru's life, even if she couldn't have known it at the time, of course. And even if she'd done it _way_ more often than that, too, when it _didn't_ turn out to be one of their enemies…

"Yeah, that lack of trust gets to you," Kiki, one of the developers, agreed with a sage nod.

"Exactly!" Nobu agreed with a sniffle. "He doesn't trust me! At all! A guy just had to flirt with me and he'd be up my throat for days! He just didn't trust in the fact that I chose him, or in my word. He overstepped boundaries snooping after me. I can't take it anymore."

Usagi inhaled sharply. She'd definitely done that, too. Did that all the time. With few exceptions, almost whenever Mamoru got flirted with, she tended to explode in his face or overreact.

Michiru. Fiore. Ami. That dentist woman. Esmeraude. Natsumi. That middle-aged, older cook-lady they'd once saved who had kidnapped Diana. Random women on the street.

She'd _stalked_ Mamoru in a _Ninja costume_ when he'd stayed at Rei's for a couple days. She'd followed him. Hell, she'd been jealous of _Chibi-Usa_ for _months_. Years, if she was honest.

"But…" Usagi said, swallowing. "The jealousy is also a sign they love you, right?"

"No," Hachiro said firmly with a frown. "Jealousy is a sign of lack of trust. In yourself, in your partner, in your relationship."

"It's toxic," Kiki agreed. "If you don't trust your partner to be true to you, how can you trust in this relationship? I get it, I've broken up with someone who was constantly jealous, before, too. I think jealousy kills every relationship in the end, in the long run."

Usagi started sweating, panic gripping her heart.

"I agree," Nobu said with a small voice and dejected shoulders. "We tried, you know? Went to a counselor about it. He vowed again and again that he trusted me and loved me and tried to stop. And yet…"

Hachiro nodded and gave him that weird manly-man shoulder pat. "You're better off without him, man…"

That made Nobu's face crumble and Hachiro cringe in regret, and Usagi feel terribly, terribly afraid.

* * *

That conversation didn't let go of her. Kept ringing in her ears all weekend.

"Do you think I'm too jealous?" she'd barked into her phone, not waiting for a greeting, stomping her foot a little on her way to meet Mako-chan at the patisserie she worked at until she could afford her own place.

"Well," Ami said carefully into her ear. Usagi could almost hear the awkward shift in her. She was trying to tread carefully. "You do get very jealous, sometimes, yes? Is everything ok?"

Usagi's shoulders slumped in total dejection. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. What if Mamoru left her too at one point, like Nobu-kun left his boyfriend? Just snapped one morning and had enough?

"Do you think it's too hard on Mamo-chan?" she whispered into her phone, all tragedy.

Ami's voice turned all the more concerned. "I think that's for Mamoru-san to decide, Usagi-chan. Not me. Have you talked to him? Is everything ok?"

She'd shaken her head slowly, reassured Ami she was just overreacting over a conversation at work, and ended the call when she arrived at Makoto's, and bought her weight in pastry.

She did end up talking to Mamo-chan. Later that weekend. She should maybe have chosen a different moment.

"Hey, Mamo-chan?" she whispered into the quiet of the night, the lights from outside casting shadows across the ceiling she frowned at. When he didn't react, she shook his arm a little and repeated the whisper until he shifted against her under the sheets.

"Hmm?" he murmured groggily, more than half asleep, his cheeks and lips hitting her shoulder as he rolled onto his side facing her, eyes closed.

She reached up her hand and carded them through his long, inky fringe, the strands falling into his closed eyes prettily.

"Do you think I'm a very jealous person?" she whispered into the dark room like a confession.

Even half-asleep, the smile that stretched his lips was entirely smug, and his arm flopped out blindly to reach around her waist and under her loose night shirt to pull her flush against him, then stroked his nose against the crook of her neck, nuzzling her throat with a content, deep inhale.

"Oh _yeah_ , you are," he breathed into her neck and promptly passed out again.

He missed the uptake in her frantic heartbeat completely, even as it hammered in her throat against his lips.

She vowed then and there to try her best and never ever get jealous again. She wouldn't let herself get left over coffee one Monday morning just because she couldn't keep her jealousy in check.

Come Monday morning, her resolve had hardened even further. And so, when Mamoru told her about his declination of car-pooling with a group of female co-eds for a symposium a little ways out when he drove her to work that morning before his first class (it was totally her fault they ended up in the shower a little too long this morning and she would have been too late otherwise), she'd grit her teeth and told him it would be fine, he should call them and re-schedule.

He'd looked at her in wide-eyed surprise as if it were _completely_ out of character for her to suggest something like that, and made her stomach roll a little and harden that resolve a little more.

* * *

As much as he hated the cliché, with some things you really _did_ only realise exactly _how_ important they are to you when they inexplicably disappear.

Overnight. All of a sudden. _Completely_ out of the blue. Gone.

For the longest while, Mamoru had never thought he had a kink.

It had only come to him gradually _how many_ he had.

Most of them weren't what he'd usually understand as a kink – he didn't like to be gagged and he didn't like to hit anyone for pleasure and he didn't like to be watched and all the things he _did_ like were mostly way, way tamer and probably would receive a verdict of ' _boooring'_ were Minako ever to get a list of the things that got him going.

Some he'd discovered really quickly. Usagi's legs. He was a leg guy. No denying it at all. Had been obvious from the start with her short skirts and endless legs and… _well_.

Or the torture that was watching her eating ice cream. _Also_ obvious from the start and giving him a very hard time regularly, very quickly, very much out of his control.

Or even just her eating in general. She _moaned_ too much and too familiarly when she did, enjoyed it so wantonly and unapologetically, and it took his mind places.

Some had been _so_ obvious and yet still took him a while. Her _hair_. His absolute obsession with it and with her hairstyle and how touching it even just in public -usually a turn-off in itself, doing _anything_ in public - was something that made him stiff and wanting no matter his mood.

He had no real clue what exactly about it it was; the silky texture, the way she could almost envelope him with how much of it there was, how attractive it was in general, all of it was true… And yet there was more to it. Something about the Odangos. Maybe because they were just so _her_ … He'd come to the conclusion that it was probably a blatant expression of the fact that she really _didn't_ care any which way if anyone found her weird or eccentric. Her hairstyle was a manifest reminder of the kind of bravery in life she had aplenty, and he lacked; and he was drawn to it in a very, very sexual way.

Some were ones he'd denied for a long while. Sailor Moon of that category maybe the biggest one. The fact that he was really, really, _really_ into her when Usagi was transformed, _especially_ when he wasn't. It was something she'd seen through very early, and he'd denied close-lipped, even when she'd teased and acted and flustered him and exploited it blatantly. Something about the pure power that she had underneath her fingertips when she was transformed, the way she could overpower him so easily like that, and sometimes did, and sometimes chose to do the absolute opposite even when she so easily could.

His superhero kink was probably one of the most flagrantly kinky ones he had, and he was lucky that she shared it – in any constellation in who was and wasn't transformed between them.

And then there was that one kink, the one that was secretly the biggest one of them all. The one he had always known about deep down and yet never sat down to acknowledge and analyse.

He really, really, _really_ liked it when Usagi got jealous.

Like an instantly working aphrodisiac, it went straight into his veins whenever Usagi would puff up and get possessive like that.

If he _did_ allow his mind to dive deep and analyse, he was pretty sure he would find his answers in the fact that growing up as unwanted as he had, this outward and expressive way of her jealousy told him the exact opposite. It told him that there was this most important person in his world, and she was _so_ strongly adamant about the fact _he_ was _hers_ …

It told him in very unmistaken terms that he was very, very wanted. It was something that spoke to him on a level that was deep and instinctive and neglected and filled every childhood scar of his.

And now she'd just… stopped.

And it freaked him out in a way he would never have expected.

It took about half a week of its apparent, utter lack until his anxiety had latched on completely. Wasn't she happy with him anymore? Did he do something wrong? Did she not want him anymore?

He started trying to be extra attentive. Cooked her favorite meals for her, picked her up from work as a surprise, ate her out in the freaking _bathroom_ _of the bar_ they'd been at on Friday night when they were out with the girls – something he would _never_ do otherwise, people could _come in_ and _hear_ her – but so far three women had hit on him that night and she hadn't even given him a single _look_.

He wanted it back. He _needed it back_.

* * *

Usagi was quietly freaking out.

She must have been doing so badly if the SECOND she tried to reign it in, Mamoru suddenly became Mr. Perfect.

Not that he wasn't already - but the way he just… Last night she'd woken up to find him stroking her hair almost reverently. In the middle of the night. Mamoru was amazing, but he was never this blatantly attentive.

But there he was, stroking her hair while he thought she was asleep and whispering how he never wanted her to cut it please because he loved it and he loved her.

Mamoru smiled at her brightly and didn't roll his eyes as often and didn't make a fuss about her mess and suggested taking her out to dinner to her favorite place and chose a romcom to watch with her on Netflix and cooked for her and gave her mind blowing orgasms and hadn't even protested but simply _joined_ them when she'd asked him if he wanted to come along for Saturday brunch with Minako and mimosas. And all she had changed was biting her tongue and clenching her fists in her pockets when someone came on to him.

Wow. He must have hated it so much.

But Saturday brunch was when it got so much worse. Or rather, straight afterwards.

Two weeks into this torture and it became legit torture for real.

It might have all been heightened from the fact that she was tipsy from all that champagne in her orange juice. Or the fact that she was pulled absolutely taut.

But when they sat in the metro on their way back, and she looked up from her game on her phone, one of those magical women who stood in front of Mamoru in her chic and spotless shoes and trenchcoat even when it was fucking _raining_ outside, was _smiling_ at him.

The flirty kind. The holding eye contact kind.

And when she looked sideways at Mamoru, he was _smiling back_.

It felt like fucking lava in her veins.

And it took all her fucking willpower to turn back to her phone and stare blindly at her screen as she lost her perfect streak.

 _You can do this you can do this you can do this don't make a scene just DON'T_ —

* * *

"I can't do this," she announced with a cry as she burst into Minako's and Ami's shared apartment unannounced on Monday evening.

"I still don't understand why you're doing this at _all_ ," Rei said with a roll of her eyes at the dining table, no one whatsoever reacting on Usagi's sudden appearance.

"You don't understand," Usagi cried, peeling off her coat and throwing it haphazardly across a chair.

"What, did he smile at another stranger?" Minako teased.

" _Worse_!" Usagi cried. "That woman at the conbini asked for the _time_ and he _answered_!"

"What ever has the world come to," Rei deadpanned with a raise of one eyebrow as even _Ami_ tried to keep from laughing at Usagi.

Usagi stomped her foot, then crashed onto one of the chairs and collapsed her head onto the table.

"You don't _get_ it. It was a giant queue and she had her phone with the time in it in her _hand_ and yet she singled out Mamoru to ask and he _answered_."

It was terrible. She'd nearly burst watching this.

"And then he _winked when she thanked him,_ " she lamented in a loud wail and curled her arms around her head, nearly toppling over the teapot that sat on the table right next to her face.

"Oh dear," Minako sighed but visibly blinked back a smirk.

"And now he's sitting in a car with three girls on the way to this stupid smart people symposium!" she cried into her arms, muffling the sound. "THREE WOMEN. They all got into his _car_. And I can't say _anything_!"

Ami's awkward pat on her shoulder wasn't comforting at all.

" _Again_ ," Rei commented in her driest voice. " _Why_ do you think you need to do this?"

* * *

At first, he started just…reacting to flirts. He'd never done that before. Nothing special, he didn't even flirt back (as if), just… he didn't put his I-will-murder-you-if-you-talk-to-me face on and when someone approached him, he politely smiled.

He was desperate and had started to turn towards desperate measures.

He just… He wanted her _back_.

Unfortunately, turns out, if you give people attention you don't actually want attention from, they give you a lot of attention you don't want.

Or it put a hoard of irritatingly mundane women in his car. He'd fought the urge to lock his doors and not let them in, but Usagi was standing there completely _calm_ and it _hurt,_ and he wanted her to freak out like she would _always_ do and then she just _didn't_.

So, because he couldn't deal with it, smiling back when people flirted with it was back out of the running. So was chauffeuring women that were careful with his car, quiet and polite.

And so his desperate measures turned even more desperate.

But he wanted to get a rise out of her, _badly_ , and so this was how he'd found himself looking for someone absolutely not at all interested in him that he could turn some attention towards, instead.

It took him a while. But finally, he found her.

She was smart in a no-nonsense way, not romantic at all, objectively attractive (he asked Kobayashi to reassure himself in that assessment), and, to make her perfect for the task, she was absolutely 100% lesbian and not only did she have zero interest in him, she also found him kind of weird. A win on all fronts.

And it was just his luck that, just when everyone was packing their stuff together after their gynecology lecture, she just so happened to tell a classmate right behind him that her lab partner had ditched her for today.

He was pretty sure he had never approached a woman so fast.

"I could help you out!" He'd practically yelled at her.

She stared him down with both perfectly styled eyebrows raised. "Um, that's alright. But thanks…"

"No, really!" he said, hopping over the row of wooden benches that separated them. "It would absolutely not be a problem."

She blinked, having to raise her eyes up at him now, and tilted her head. "Haven't you _done_ that lab already, Chiba-san?"

He shrugged, brushed it off.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Chiba-san… I have a girlfriend."

His smile grew. "Oh yes, me too," he said. This was going perfectly.

She frowned, took a small step back. "Uh… ok then…?"

* * *

Usagi was fighting a losing battle with this stupid, unfair, paper-jammed copy machine when her pocket started vibrating.

Cursing at the machine in front of her, she answered without checking who it was, and sighed in relieved content when Mamoru's baritone rumbled against her ear.

"Hey, I'll go to Donki later getting those batteries and stuff for dinner – did you need anything?"

His voice sounded a little rushed, people were talking in the background, but he sounded all soft and sweet anyway. His Usako-voice. It was a little higher than his normal talking voice, and way, way softer.

She smiled into her phone and stopped kicking the copy machine. "Yes!" she cooed into her phone. "Heat packs! The ones that say 'for clothing' on them?"

"With the big yellow—" he started.

"—yes," she interrupted with a smile.

She did have the best of all the men.

But then she frowned, because then he cleared his voice, and when he talked again, his Usako voice was gone and his normal speaking voice was on. "Anyway, I'm going to be home a little later today," he said.

She gripped her phone a little tighter. As if on cue, the stupid copy machine started beeping at her again and blinking red. "What's wrong?"

"I'm helping a classmate with an assignment," he said, and his voice sounded… weird.

She narrowed her eyes, and they singled onto the red blinking button on the monster machine in a rush of trepidation and utter, utter irritation.

"A classmate…?" she asked, trying to sound carefully neutral.

His voice lowered, as if he was turning away to hush into his phone.

"Yeah, she… um… she begged me to stay. I couldn't say no."

She swallowed her anger. It took all her Sailor Moon strength to keep the venom out of her voice completely.

" _She_ did, yeah?" she said. Somehow - magic, it must be magic - it sounded sweet, and not murderous.

A pause. Mamoru didn't speak. As if he was waiting for something.

Unfortunately, her mind used this pause to fill it.

She was pretty sure she might be going up in flames. And in it the imagery of her mind's eye repeated itself over and over in its white-hot core.

Some smarty-pants, perfect med-student flinging herself at her Mamo-chan in her sexy student outfit, moaning and grinding and gasping. _Oh Mamoru, put your glasses on and check my temperature and come have me on this pretentious library table._

She almost accidently cracked her copy card.

Gritting her teeth and _shaking_ , she managed to answer. "That's ok," she ground out. "I'll be out shopping with Mina-P after work, anyway"

Mamoru's voice … cracked weirdly. "Ok…" he said.

"Mhm," she rushed out, immediately, hurriedly. "Ok, see you later bye," she rushed and hung up before he barely had the chance to return it.

Then she walked into the hall, took off her cardigan, bit into it and screamed, sound muffled by the precious merino fabric.

And then she remembered that this precious merino wool cardigan was a gift from Mamoru, and she growled even harder.

She spent the last half hour of her workday completely useless and kept obsessively stalking the instagram accounts of all of Mamoru's co-eds that she knew.

It was Kobayashi in the end, good old Kobayashi, that proved to be the most fruitful. 15 minutes after she'd begun her stalking spree, he'd posted a story. In the second bar of it, a boomerang image showed Mamoru and an outrageously beautiful woman with perfect hair in two matching starch-white lab coats behind a row of microscopes, shaking transparent test tubes into the camera.

Her internal cinema changed from mahogany library desks and sexy reading glasses to a disinfected white room, test tubes being swiped off a white, sterile desks and lab coats over naked skin.

She called Minako, forced her to go shopping with her, dragged her into Lumine and loudly wailed her agony and lab-coat-hate all across Jill Stuart, United Tokyo and Muji.

When she walked through the door, much later and 20.000 Yen poorer, Mamoru was already cooking, and she'd calmed down enough to put on the best fucking poker face of her entire life.

She slipped off her shoes, smelled the gorgeous smell of onions cooking in butter and dropped her shopping bags on the couch.

And well, all her previous irritation _did_ evaporate the moment she saw him, because there was her Mamo-chan, standing barefoot in the kitchen and cooking for her, two giant family packs of the heat packs she'd requested waiting for her on the counter.

"Hey," she purred, and slung her arms around his middle from behind, the pan sizzling on the stove.

It felt like he melted in her arms, collapsing a little against her hold almost in relief, as if he'd been tense all day and only got to relax now that her arms were around him, and it caused her to preen just a little bit as she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of his neck.

"Hey," he returned, his voice almost regretful it sounded so relieved, and he brought his left and unused hand up to wrap around where both of hers were tightly clasped just beneath his sternum.

She sighed in content, snuggling herself against his warm back a little tighter, and then let go with one last nuzzle to his shoulder.

"Anything I can do?" she asked, hopping up next to him, and he shot her a sweet smile, then leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead.

Then he nodded to the open plastic bag on the counter and the cutting board and knife already laid out there.

"You can peel the carrots," he said.

With a nod, she peeled off her coat, threw it over a chair (it fell to the floor with a thud to a roll of Mamoru's eyes), and went to wash her hands in the sink directly next to him. He hip-checked her playfully with a small bitten-back smile, and she giggled.

"What did you buy?" he asked conversationally as she rinsed the suds off her fingers and reached for the soft, flowery towel that hung from the oven door in front of his hips.

"Oh, just a few office outfits," she said with a shrug, bent over to rub her fingers in front of him. Then she straightened, walked around to his other side, and started peeling the carrots. "Something a little more sophisticated. I have so many skirts, thought I'd update it with a few more pairs of pants."

He nodded, and the carrot peel came off in long, orange strips. "The ones that are so popular right now? With the high ankles and the wide hips and obi belts? So that I look like I have a bit more curves and my legs don't look so freakishly long anymore," she said.

He clanked the wooden spoon he was cooking with loudly as it fell from his grasp.

She threw him a look, and he threw her an odd one back.

"Everything ok?" she asked with a frown, peeler poised in the air.

He blinked, cleared his throat audibly as he shifted his gaze back to the stove, reached for the grader in the small tin beside her on the counter, and started grating ginger into the butter with a rather high-pitched and short, "Mhm."

She frowned at him, started chopping the carrot she had peeled into small, rather unattractive shapes while Mamoru did this weird thing where he opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider, closed it again, and huffed.

"Anyway, um," Mamoru started in a weirdly stiff voice. "The lab was quite fun today…"

Her grip tightened on the handle of the knife, but she forced her tone to remain even.

"Oh yeah?" she said.

She _felt_ his frown.

"Mhm," he made again. And then added, carefully. "Kobayashi came and joined us for a bit, too…"

Her skin started crawling. It was a sudden, immediate, explosive thing. She wanted to jump into the air and into his face and demand him to tell her every detail and to never look at that unfairly beautiful woman again and also to drag him by his hair into the bedroom and take his cock for a spin while she growled 'mine' a lot until he understood.

And then go and ritually burn the lab coat he'd worn when that woman was with him on that sterile lab counter and its yeeted-off equipment and while she was already at it burn that whole lab down, too. Yes. Yes, this sounded good.

And how _dare_ he bring up Kobayashi. Mamoru _knew_ Kobayashi and his social media addiction was her main stalking vessel, and hadn't she already done that and bookmarked this woman's instagram (Matsushima 'I'm-so-perfect' fucking _Ai_ was her name, go figure) because of _course_ you could count on Kobayashi tagging people, she'd now be itching to get her phone to get on the hunt.

Instead, she said, "that's nice…"

But, turns out, she'd never actually _felt_ jealousy in her life before. Because what bubbled up in her next was worse than anything she'd _ever fucking felt._

He threw her some serious side-eye and again that weird, expectant look. "We worked really well together. It was done pretty quick. Then she asked me for a rise home and I I gave her one…"

HER. A _ride home_!

She tried. She tried so very, very hard. But all her insides were burning in hot, infernal fire the likes that would burn even Rei, and her internal screaming was so loud she swore she could hear it ringing in her inner ear, flailing and burning and screaming like the stupid fucking elmo meme.

It must have been the silver crystal. She blamed the silver crystal for the hugest feat of the century, the fact that she remained calm and strong and simply grit her teeth and ground out a patient, "well, you have a car that only makes sense. It's only logical she'd ask for a ride."

"Actually, it was my motorcycle."

Oh, and would you look at that. Thunder joined the party, too! Jumping up and down her spine and paralyzing her stiff fingers.

"I see," the silver crystal said, all calm and patient.

The lab was gone from her mind's eye. The lab was dead to her. Replaced by that perfect, stupidly sexy woman and how she was all over her precious, innocent Mamo-chan on his stupidly sexy motorcycle. _Oh Mamoru, here I am with my fancy degree and adult-people hair come have me_.

"Oh shit," Mamoru called out and dropped the spoon loudly again, and she frowned and glanced down at the board in front of her.

She hadn't even noticed she'd cut her finger. A small, shallow cut on her thumb, but it bled pretty hard because _obviously._ She _was_ boiling on the inside after all, of course it would sprew from her like a fucking fountain.

But of course her good-boy Mamo-chan was there right away and turned off the stove and cleaned her finger and dragged her with him to sit her down on the rim of the tub as he cleaned and dressed her clumsy-people wound, hovering like a concerned mother hen and being absolutely adorable.

She did drag him into the bedroom by the hair then. He came very, very willingly, and very, very loudly, some time later. And turned the stove back on when they were done, but she didn't get to chop anymore.

* * *

Basking in the afterglow of intense happy orgasm-space even the next morning as she logged onto her work computer, she remembered to freak out again.

Had he always done that? Flirt with people? Had she just not noticed? Or… had he been hiding it until now that she finally seemed ok with it…? Was he even happy with her?

Well, and, sure, _sure_ the sex was spectacular at the moment, as spectacular as it usually only was if the frigging _world_ was ending and they were both in various states of panic-induced super-horn.

But still… was she doing _more_ shit wrong? Was he so relieved she finally acted like a normal person that he let loose…?

* * *

"Are you ok?" he blurted out that evening when he came home from his oncology class to see her _doing the laundry_. She _never_ did the laundry. They had that running gag about her clothes slowly starting to take over the apartment and changing the locks one day when they were out.

She'd looked up at him, confused and… concerned?

"Why should I not be?" she asked, standing there in her pink cotton bra and filling the machine with clothes that shouldn't be washed together.

He walked up and picked a few items back out from her load that would surely mess up the colors of her light-colored, fragile blouses.

"I…" he started, then changed his mind. "You've been acting… different, these past weeks," he said instead.

Her eyes blew up, concern taking them over full force, and sky-rocketing his anxiety.

"It's… been so bad that you'd notice right away?" she murmured with dejected shoulders and let go of the laundry completely, when he took the wrong detergent from her hands and exchanged it for the right one for her fabrics.

That… freaked him out more than he could deal with. He filled the detergent into the machine with shaking fingers and clicked it shut. Tried to breathe deeply as he pushed the right buttons and the drums of the washing machine roared to life.

"Are _we_ ok?" he ended up tentatively asking.

She looked at him in alarm. "Of course!" she yowled, pushing her hands onto his body.

He carried her to bed, stripped her of pink cotton, and made sure she remembered what she had.

There _needed_ to be ways to get it back. He'd told her about a woman on his _bike_ last night, his _original sin_ , and she hadn't even _flinched_. Maybe he needed to try _even harder_ …?

* * *

It wasn't all that surprising that the Square Enix and Holdings building in Shinjuku Eastside with it's four thousand-something employees had its own party floor. It _was_ surprising (though probably shouldn't be) how many people of these Usagi already knew by name after just _four weeks of working there_.

The lobby was lined in framed game art, the waiters that ran around the event were dressed as characters from various games and the party floor had its own Dragon Quest themed bar with themed drinks and employees fully nerding out over them, and all in all he found himself feeling fully out of place and like Usagi had found somewhere she belonged.

She looked divine, more divine that she usually did even, in that classy, cream-colored floor-length dress with the sequined bodice and those slits on both sides that went all the way up her thighs and exposing her spectacular legs, a pink cocktail in her hand, and he felt pretty privileged hanging from her arm like that.

She'd made a huge fuss all week for this; her first ever big-ass work party so early on in her tenure, nerves running wild and attractive on her and he'd taken her shopping for the occasion and let himself be patiently dressed up in a new suit by her, too.

Even when it cost him a stab to the heart once more when the shop-lady had checked him out and Usagi didn't move a single muscle.

And even here; one by one she introduced them to a hoard of her colleges, pulling his arm from table to table. Asami from sales, Saburo and Ryo from recruiting, Ritsuko from development, Masahiro and Ike from finance, Stéphanie the intern from France, and on and on it went. She greeted them all brightly like old friends, and some of the women in tight dresses smiled at him and joked with him and she smiled tightly but _joked right along._

They finally settled at a table where someone had saved a seat for them in advance, and he quickly learned this was her kitchen crowd, the ones she'd been talking about a lot recently. 'Hana-chan' from reception, 'Hachi-kun' from recruitment, 'Kiki-chan' from development, and 'Nobu-kun' who worked in the same department as Usagi did, as well as two other people who seemed to be +1s like him. Apparently, it was a surprise to see Nobu-kun's supposed partner at the event for everyone present, but he felt it was quite impolite to ask why exactly.

He excused himself to get another drink at the colorful, themed bar, taking her empty glass with him, and ordered two fruity cocktails (a 'Kupo' and a 'Croft') from a guy dressed in a Chocobo costume, rather proud of himself for recognizing it in the first place and mentally making a note to brag about it to Usagi later to receive a preening little pat.

And so, when he received an unexpected pat to his shoulder, he was so surprised to see his classmate standing there he nearly dropped the drinks.

"Matsushima-san!" he greeted with raised eyebrows.

"Chiba-san!" she said with a smile that was kind of wary, and yeah, from the way he'd acted with that lab thing and the talking her into giving her a ride like that and then ghosting her completely, he wasn't surprised if she was wary to see him at an event like this where she was, too, and was briefly terrified she might think he was stalking her.

"What are you doing here?" she said with an edge and a hand to his arm.

"My girlfriend works here, actually," he said with an awkward shrug.

"Oh!" she said, rolling her shoulders back, "mine does, too!"

And as if he'd summoned her, Usagi appeared at his side, clutching at his arm, sizing Matsushima's burgundy velvet dress up bottom to top, and for the first time in weeks, he found her eyes hot and fiery and angry and it sent such a thrill up his spine in sweet, glorious _relief_ that he couldn't help but be an abominable idiot.

Honestly, it felt a little like a car crash even to him, and yet it was happening. With a little wrench away from Usagi, as if in slow motion, he saw Matsushima's growing and weirded out eyes as Mamoru dropped his arm on her shoulders in the weirdest, half-hovering-not-really-even-touching-because-too- _weird_ , most-awkward pose he'd _ever made._

"Usako!" he said in a voice that was too loud and too strange but just… happened… "let me introduce my _good friend Ai_ —"

But it _worked_. Usagi was _boiling._ He _saw_ it, and so he couldn't _stop_ now that he was _so close_ —

"Matsushima Ai," Usagi ground out between her clenched teeth with her gorgeous fists clenched tightly against her dress and his chest _swelled. "_ Yes, I've heard of you," Usagi hissed.

"Uh…" Matsushima said, and disentangled herself with a duck out from under his arm and took a step back, but he was focused rigidly, and entirely, on his precious girl and her vibrating, livid, _gorgeous_ eyes, thank _god there she was_ —

"She's the one who _rode on my motorcycle_ the other day," he said, too slowly, too brightly, too excited.

 _Finally_ , Usagi exploded. Erupted like the Tsukino-rage-bomb that he knew and adored, all flailing arms and puffed out chest and flying up towards him, and it was the f _ucking best sight he'd ever seen, he's never been this happy to SEE her like this_ —

"GET YOUR STUPID-SEXY MANICURED HANDS OFF _MY_ MAN RIGHT THIS—"

He flew to her, melting, shutting her up with his own lips and moaning into her mouth, and held her face in an absolutely smitten, relieved puddle of pure, undiluted, _relieved_ joy. He barely registered the whispered, "They're so _weird_ ," that the woman that had sided up next to Matsushima whispered who was most probably her girlfriend.

But he fully registered with a delighted sigh how Usagi's hands fisted in his hair as she dragged him with her.

"She's _NOT_ getting you," Usagi hissed angrily against his mouth, pulling at his tie, and his knees nearly buckled because _yes yes yes_ —

He was pushed against a wall, except it turned out to be a door and it flipped open behind his back and he was pushed into fluorescent light and moaned in flustered agony when she bit his lower lip and _growled._

He got so hard so fast that it made the world swim that little bit.

" _You hear me_?!" she screeched at him, yanking at his belt buckle. "You're _mine_ , Mamo-chan," she howled at him, and he shivered and melted and shivered some more, excitement running down his spine like electricity.

Who cared that this was a bathroom at her workplace? He closed his eyes and let her hands push at his hips and he hoped for the best and mewled into her mouth and gobbled it all up.

"You're _never_ talking to her _again_ ," she ordered right against his panting mouth and it travelled straight to his cock with a whimper from his throat, furious hands ripping his belt out of his belt loops, and his back hit another door.

He had barely enough time to flip the lid on the posh, fancy toilet in this tiny room with fancy black floor-to-ceiling tiles and paint, before his belt landed on it with a loud metallic clank that would have landed in the bowl instead, and she shoved him against the wall (for real this time), and kicked the door shut, his lips her willing prisoner.

Then her hands were in his pants, one hand gripping his cock, the other his ass, and she stood on her tiptoes to keep attacking his mouth, alternating between shoving her tongue into his mouth and shouting at him.

"She's not having—" she broke for groan as he pushed back at her, and in one movement, not even a step in this tiny space, just him leaning forcefully forward, it was her with her back against the wall, and his mouth biting at her throat. "—you. Never. Y-you hear me?!"

"I do," he growled. "She's not," he said, and licked up her throat with the flat of his tongue up behind her ear, then bit at her earlobe. "Only _you_ are."

"Yes," she hissed - and he hissed too, because her hand squeezed his cock and pulled on him.

"And you're—you – you—"

She had trouble speaking, because his tongue was too impatient, and so instead he bit her shoulder and pushed his hands into her hair and down her ass to lift her and press himself against her, because he needed her mouth free, he needed her to _talk—_

"— never answering anyone the time again, no one, just me," she babbled, now a little breathlessly, because his hand had slipped beneath her dress and found her crotch.

He could only nod against her shoulder in blissed out, pitiful lust, moaning at her skin, and started to rub her firmly through her panties, shaking and needy and cock leaking in her hand.

"And train bimbo is NEVER SEEING YOU AGAIN," she gasped out in harsh spurts, and this time he had to laugh; loud, snorting, happy sounds erupting from his throat, and it - god yes -only riled her up even more.

"AND NO WOMEN ARE EVER GETTING IN YOUR CAR AGAIN NOT EVEN THE GIRLS," she yelled at the top of her lungs, even when she pushed her hips and her sex down against his hands, writhing and quivering and soaking through the fabric.

"Tell me more," he groaned brokenly, weakly, and hiked up her skirt fully to fish her panties out from between her legs, dragging them in sloppy movements down her thighs.

" _You'll shout at people to go away_ ," she cried, now one long wailing moan, "Not _smile_ at them, understand?!" and then she swore with clenched teeth and trembled pliant and stiff and boneless against his hand as it dragged blindly up her slit through her soaking wetness until she cried out some more, mumbling and cursing and swearing more threats under her breath that stopped making sense, her chest flushing pink underneath her cream bodice and he groaned, slipped his other hand from her hair and yanked one of the straps of her dress down her shoulder to free a breast.

"GOD, I missed this," he hissed before he pinched at both her nipple and her clit at the same time.

She did that thing where her breathing started to stutter and her eyes flew open towards the ceiling and it made him even harder, so impossibly, painfully hard, even when her hand fell limply from his cock.

"I tried to make you jealous so much, you have no idea," he babbled, watching her distracted face with greedy eyes closely, his gaze wandering her face as he kept stroking.

"W-wait," she choked, squeezing her eyes shut and gasping as he tapped at her clit. "W-what?!"

But he just went on. "Where have you _been_?" he gasped, then pressed his mouth into her hair, flicking his fingers and entering her in one languid stroke. "Why'd you _stop_?"

She cried out, because as if to emphasise his words, he'd pulled his fingers from her and away, and her hips came off the wall to get them back. But instead, he yanked at his pants, getting them out of the way, hefted up her thigh, and thrust into her.

She moaned long and hard and rolled her hips against him, grabbing onto his shoulders and surrendering her weight to him to do with whatever he wanted.

He groaned into her hair, pulled all the way out slowly, and thrust back in hard.

"My—" she started, then grunted when he did that again, "My co-workers said jealousy is bad," she whimpered, eyes closed as he filled her.

He frowned, bewildered, breathing harshly, and squeezed her butt and pushed in again. She keened. "Never listen to your co-workers again, Usako, ever," he panted. Pulling out slowly, thrusting back hard, hitting her clit. Repeat.

"I tried so badly to be good," she whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders, even through the fancy black dress shirt.

He snorted into her hair, stroking her ass and lifting her against his cock as he pushed back in. "Never, ever, _ever_ be good Usako, _please_."

She stiffened, swore and succumbed and rode against his hips. "You're MINE," she hissed under her breath, fingernails digging harder.

He whimpered and accidently slipped out, causing her to cry out in frustration.

"Say that again," he begged, and slammed himself back into her.

She _shouted_. A long, drawn out, " _MINE_!" that rang in his ears and made him twitch inside of her and he had to bite his tongue because it was music and perfection and _yes_ —

Her words came out in broken stutters in the rhythm of his cock hitting her ass against the wall in loud splats again and again. "No on—e gets to— touch y-you –but m—me."

"Again," he cried.

"Mine. Mine mine _mine mine oh FUCK_ —"

* * *

Afterwards, sitting closely side by side - with finger-combed hair in mirrored poses and crossed legs back at 'their' table - they watched the biggest scene of the evening in rapt attention.

Apparently Nobu-kun had smiled at the waiter, or maybe told him the time, Usagi wasn't sure. His boyfriend, however, was yelling with a red face at the top of his lungs.

She shot Mamoru a startled look when she caught him muttering "Lucky bastard" quietly under his breath.

* * *

 _(I managed a comedy for once I think, woot!) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this ridiculous mess lol. Reviews are love!_


	8. Sextual Harrassment

_It's the last week of smutember! The trope I used for this one was, obvious enough again, was 'Sexting', and we're back to torturing Mamoru I guess, lol. My always-thanks to my beta Uglygreenjacket (I swear I don't do it intentionally, love, these things just get longer than I intent them to!) who has one hell of a beta job with me this month, and to Antigone2 – thank you so much for cheering me on during this?!_

 _Anyway, this is the last week, so make sure to check out the other smutember fics written over on tumblr too, if you're in the mood, and cheer all the authors on! They'd love to hear from you!_

 _And so do I, of course, so let me know how you found this!_

 _As in my previous chapter: Since this is an Established Relationship setting, please assume they figured out what to do for protection aaaages ago, and won't make it a topic before sex everytime thus! But it's there as it should be!_

* * *

Sextual Harrassment

A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series, Written for Smutember 2019

* * *

Even before it had all gotten all out of control, Mamoru had already been quite sure that if Usagi were to ever learn that some of the things she texted him from time to time really _did_ things to him... he'd either die a mortified puddle on the spot or be in a hell lot of trouble.

But yes. Yes, it really, _really_ did. Things to him, that is.

(And in the end, it was kind of both – the puddle _and_ the trouble.)

The fateful Monday it had finally started getting out of hand had begun innocently enough, when out of the blue something had switched and suddenly it was no longer the kind that he'd gotten used to by now, the kind he could _deal_ with—

He usually had it under control. And it's not that it was a _problem_ per se – His life was _good_ right now. There was no enemy, they were comfortable. And while the tables had recently flipped, now that Usagi had started working and doing so well at her event company that she was saving money for their future while he was still stuck in classes for his never-ending medical degree and coming by on his orphan's pension and the odd strange summer and student jobs, this wasn't anything that bothered him beyond the fact that it meant they would have to wait a little while longer until they could afford to get a bigger apartment than his little one-room number that would fit them both. He sure as hell was used to her being the person with more power in this relationship, and more than anything, it felt kind of sexy.

So, the fact that his biggest current problem seemed to be that his girlfriend texted him unintentionally sexy things he couldn't deal with should be a cause for celebration, really.

As if he could sense it, like a foreboding wave of 'this will be the end of me', his eyebrow twitched in an almost nervous tic when he felt his phone vibrate multiple times in short succession in his pocket this particular Monday morning.

Even if on the outside no one would ever notice, Mondays had become quite a pain for him this semester. While Usagi didn't work on Mondays, he had classes 8 through 12 back to back followed by a free slot that he used to review or have lunch before he had classes all the way till 6. So his Mondays nowadays were hard to cope with as it was.

Yet, it really wasn't even _so_ out of the ordinary what he found.

He'd managed to refrain from waking up his phone to check his messages for about 3 minutes until he caved, shifted slightly in his wooden folding chair in the back row of this particular lecture hall to withdraw the device from his tight jeans, and then rubbed his hand over his face and mouth to suppress a groan.

Usako, 11:41 am.  
I'm out shopping with Mina-P and I can't quite decide between these. What do you think?

What followed were a series of pretty much nude selfies taken in what was apparently a changing room. Nude except for the bras Usagi was confidently modeling with a cute little _way too inviting_ smile and tilted head into the mirror and the camera of her phone.

A black one with an underband that criss-crossed in ribbons across the smooth creamy skin beneath her breasts, contrasting deliciously, a different black one in almost transparent, delicate eyelash lace that hugged around the soft swell of her breast as if it were painted on, a soft pink one she modeled with her back turned to the camera to showcase the little satin bow in the back in lieu of a clasp that he just _knew_ would fall off of her with the smallest tug to the ribbons, and a fourth red, corded, triangle one that made the soft mounds plunge in a way that made his mouth run dry.

He felt himself bite his finger of the hand still tightly pressed against his mouth, his eyes glued to the screen, lecture completely forgotten.

 _She doesn't mean it that way. She just wants your opinion is all._ It was a mantra to will the abrupt pressing in his too tight jeans down, one meant to hang on to his sanity.

These weren't even the first changing room photos he'd ever received, and yet it was somehow the most torturing thing she'd ever sent him. And she'd send him a number of unwittingly seducing things over the years.

She was _biting her finger_ around a cheeky smile in the red bra photo.

How was she getting sexier every day? How was this even possible?

The eyelash lace one framed the little birthmark that sat in the valley between her breast like the teasing little treat it was as if it had been made solely for this purpose alone.

He hadn't even noticed the class had been dismissed when he found himself alone in the lecture hall and finally able to answer the mesmerizing photos.

Mamoru, 11:52 am.  
Buy them all.

He barely even registered the immediate reply of a 'good, cause Mina-P said the same' with lots of widely smiling emojis underneath the open thread and slumped with his back heavily against the hard wood of the folding chair and cursed into the echoing, empty room.

He had to take a series of calming breaths before he dared to eventually exit from behind the small desk that hid his swelling problems so well.

* * *

Most days, Usagi's brand of accidental sexting was both torturous and surprisingly oblivious to what she was actually doing to him. In a way, it usually had almost been adorable if it didn't tend to give him such a hard time.

Turns out, his life would have stayed a hell of a lot easier had she _stayed_ oblivious.

The day that changed really was his own fucking fault.

But the previous week had started with sexy lingerie and continued with lamentations of how her days were too long and she'd rather want to crawl into bed with him followed by long, rambling, all-encompassing descriptions of everything she'd rather do than work her project (their current client seemed to be a pain in the ass even if balloons and bouncy castles were involved) (and licking ice cream off his chest in the summer heat was among the long list of optional alternatives.)

(He'd bought two tubs of ice cream on the way home, yet, when he invited Usagi she ordered him out to join her spending time with the girls instead.)

So, it really was no wonder that come NEXT Monday he was hanging by a dangerous, flimsy thread and really couldn't take a lot.

The first text of a long day of torment once again hit in his Immunology class.

Usako, 11:01 am.  
Do you mind if I go hang around your apartment today while you're not there?

He sighed in audible relief when he saw he wasn't greeted by bare skin and sultry eyes this time when he opened up his phone.

Mamoru, 11:01 am.  
Of course you can. You don't have to ask.

Her reply was almost immediate… and made him freeze up.

Usako, 11:02 am.  
Good. It's so hot. I need somewhere where I can run around naked in the aircon.

Oh.

He'd already been riled up. It was a long week, he was studying for a set of upcoming oral exams long into his nights and that always left him a little vulnerable and over-stimulated as it was, and so his deprived brain had decided to play the image of Usagi in lingerie on repeat for the past 168 hours.

And that's why the simple information that any moment now Usagi would be in his apartment, strip down, and he was not there to see, was kinda something he _felt on his_ _skin_ , although last time he checked, he wasn't thirteen anymore.

This really shouldn't have been a problem. It shouldn't. At all.

And so, he simply forbade his mind to dwell on the happenings of which his walls could see and stubbornly (and successfully) focused back on the projector slides, and after class, instead of going for lunch, he holed himself up in the library for some reviewing.

A very secluded part of the library.

 _Mistake_.

It meant if Usagi involuntarily decided to boil him in his pants, there was no external pressure to focus his mind on.

Usako, 1:18 pm.  
Freedom for the boobs!

Ok. This was ok. He could handle this.

Mamoru swallowed uncomfortably as he typed. _Unintentional_. It's _unintentional_.

Mamoru, 1:19 pm.  
… I'm glad you're having fun.

He set the phone back down – even when it was still opened to her message thread – and crossed out the last line of nonsense he'd written in his notes with a little bit more pressure, then corrected himself.

And really, it was stupid. The mere thought that his girlfriend was currently running naked around his apartment should not turn him on. A text _clearly_ meant to be funny such as hers right now, _should not turn him on_. It should not. It didn't.

Usako, 1:20 pm.  
I am. I'm lying on your couch naked and eating ice cream and your aircon is a gift. The breeze is so strong my nipples are hard. THIS IS BLISS.

It did.

He thunked his forehead onto the cherry wood of the library desk and counted to 10.

But as he tried to mentally brief his brain with the fact that he _sees her naked all the time this is NOT a big deal get a grip_ , his mind instead latched onto memory material of Usagi's soft, luscious, delicious curves and endless, smooth legs and creamy thighs and golden hair tumbling across pink, puckered nipples to use and turn his mental image into unintentional technicolor.

Usagi naked on his couch. Usagi _waiting_ naked on his couch. Usagi with the sultry eyes from the red bra photo, crooking her finger with her naked, long legs stretched out and her plump butt against the coarse fabric of his couch. Usagi on his couch with her soft thighs spreading open slowly as he crawled on top of her and slowly thrus—

He snapped his book shut so loud it made even himself jump and grit his teeth.

Normal. This is ok. This is nothing. So he was turned on. He'd been a teenager once and had thus been well trained in dealing with unwelcome and spontaneous boners. He could ignore this. He _needed_ to ignore this.

Mamoru, 1:29 pm.  
Good to hear.

He breathed a calming sigh and crossed his legs, tilted his head back against the backrest of his chair and stifled a groan as he ran a hand through his hair and fixated on the ceiling until it was time for his next class.

Through which he made it almost completely before his phone vibrated again. And though he braced himself, this one made him smile.

Usako, 3:30 pm.  
I miss you.

He flicked his eyes up to the slides, weighing his options briefly and let his pen drop almost immediately to text back.

Mamoru, 3:31 pm.  
Yeah?

His professor was listing factors affecting lymph node metastasis practically word for word from the textbook while he shifted his attention fully to his phone.

Usako, 3:31 pm.  
Yeah, it's lonely on this couch.

He smiled a dumb smile at his phone, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other.

Mamoru, 3:32 pm.  
That's impossible. It's never lonely on that couch when you're there.

He could almost imagine her slightly charmed, slighting blushing smile as she rolled her eyes to that over-the-top flirt, and stared at the three dots that indicated she was writing with a smile that was even dumber.

But it derailed fairly quickly.

Usako, 3:32 pm.  
Hmm : ) Well, come home and join me then and get on me.

Did she just…?

He licked his lips.

Mamoru, 3:33 pm.  
…What?

 _Don't don't don't don't_ , his brain chanted. He looked up deliberately at the surgery pictures of lymph node deformations currently displayed on the slides to keep his boner from greeting him back full-force, but somehow even these wouldn't seem to want to work.

(And _god_ would that one be hard to explain if anybody saw him walk out of _this_ class in his current state.)

His phone vibrated again almost immediately.

Usako, 3:33 pm.  
Well I'm lying here all spread out and not gonna move. If you wanna join me, you need to get on top. ; )

He squeezed his eyes and mouth shut and reminded himself hard that she didn't mean this, she didn't know what this was doing to him, she was making a fucking joke _don't_ —

Usagi naked on his couch with her puckered pink nipples and her manga slipping to the floor and his hands slowly stroking up her inner thighs to spread her wide open for him as he crawled on top of her. Those breathy, shaky gasps she made when he dragged his cock slowly up and dow—

Usako, 3:35 pm.  
For real tho  
Don't you wanna come?

Yes. Yes, he very much wanted to come. Preferably in her.

He chose to just not answer.

And he also chose to remain seated once again, though this time deliberately, when class was dismissed, pretending to rework his notes during the break between classes right there in the frigging second row.

In the end he had to tug his dark button up out from his pants and let it hang down freely to hide him somewhat semi-successfully that left him sweating all the way to his last class, and it took all his resolve not to skip his last seminar and _run_ home to fuck a naked temptress right into his couch cushions.

Although he _did_ find himself pleading with fate to please, please, please make it so that she would remain naked and in his apartment for the rest of the night, _please_ , he'd hurry home extra fucking fast and never ask for anything else.

Usako, 5:01 pm.  
I thought I might pick you up later?

 _No._

He read the message in open-mouthed, protesting appalment. No. _No_. Stay. _Stay where you are until I can get there so I can—_

Mamoru, 5:02 pm.  
You could just wait up for me at home…

He held his breath.

Usako, 5:02 pm.  
But we get to the gallery quicker from Mita I think?

 _OH_ … shit.

Right. Michiru's vernissage. Tonight. Ginza. Little artisan gallery they'd promised to come by tonight and support her.

His disappointment was so harsh and fierce he could taste it on his tongue.

Usako, 5:02 pm.  
We could go out for dinner after the exhibition thingy?

He exhaled in a pained shudder.

Mamoru, 5:04 pm.  
Sure.

* * *

She wore nothing but the thinnest excuse for a little black cotton dress he'd ever seen, tiny straps holding it up and tinier straps criss-crossing across her chest not unlike one of the bras from the pictures that started this extended blue-balling session from hell. It fluttered in the wind down to just above her knees and hugged her in all the right places and looked spectacularly fashionable even if it was clearly chosen for the late summer heat, her skin glistening just that little bit where a thin sheen of sweat pooled in the nape of her neck and the dip of her elbows and the swell of her breasts barely visible beyond the straps of her almost modest neckline. She was flushed and pink and gorgeous and _shit_ he was going to suffer.

And from the way the fabric dipped low down her back and shifted across her chest he was _half-sure_ she wasn't wearing a bra beneath this thing.

She'd risen up adorably on her toes in her little strappy summer wedges to great him with a kiss and he'd curled a hand around her waist to draw her flush against him to inhale her kiss to savor. And yet, it had ended way too soon, and he was forced to let go and walk beside her almost impersonally, just too far to catch the lingering scent of fresh shower on her skin.

They got on the metro and changed trains in Hibiya, and he longingly looked down at the crown of her head as he stood a little too close to her on the metro as she checked directions on her phone and scrolled through her messages. It had originally been _his_ suggestion to go to this event in the first place, and now here he was desperately trying to think of ways to make them turn around and throw her on his bed instead.

He didn't end up voicing a single one of those and ended up trailing after Usagi into the brightly lit venue with slumped shoulders and his hands deep in his pockets.

The gallery itself ended up being located in a tall, hyper-modern building surrounded by other galleries in tall, hyper-modern buildings, visited by crowds made up of people wearing expensive fedora hats, haori jackets and nail polish and he felt a flash of pride that Michiru was doing so well even in her hobbies.

They were handed tall champagne flutes with cut strawberries and rosemary floating in the bubbly alcohol that Usagi quickly fawned over, and altogether the vernissage was kind of cool and kind of not Usagi's world with their talk of color delicacy and texture changes and expressionism in the medium, even when the contrast was blurring every day as she blossomed into the kind of person they all wanted to be. They found Michiru quickly and chatted with her briefly before she was pulled away to network, and then chatted with Haruka a lot more and walked around the venue mostly together until Michiru held a small speech and someone played the cello in her honor.

When the whole thing had almost dwindled down, Mamoru was found by a small group of a few people from university and stayed to small talk politely while Usagi went off with Haruka and made some friends in her charming ways, and he somehow lost her from his sight.

He could stand it for about 30 minutes in which he'd more and more disengaged distractedly from the conversation until he excused himself, wandered the small, bright, white-walled and illuminated maze until he found Usagi sitting on a nearby serving table next to all the champagne flutes and dangled her long legs lazily as she stared forlornly at a watercolor of the Moon seen from outer space with the Earth rising just behind it.

She was so lost in the painting she didn't even seem to notice him walk up to her side, and even when he was all contained and all under tight, careful control, he couldn't refrain from leaning into her personal space, bending in the back and brushing her startled ear, and couldn't help the flirty tone.

"Like what you see?" he breathed down her neck.

Her eyes jumped up to his even as her shoulders fell from their startled tenseness, and she sent him a warm smile that quirked up a little more on one side and turned those enchanting eyes back to the watercolor.

"I really do," she said in an almost apologetic tone towards the painting. "It's breathtaking. I kinda want it."

He should be focusing on the painting. Should acknowledge the fact that it probably reminded her not only of their past lives, but of her Senshi's view of it, should address the fact that it was nice to see the reminder paint a smile on her face and not something else. Instead, he didn't face the painting at all, took an even closer step and inhaled deeply, his eyes raking down her shoulders, her bare arms, her attractive dress down to its hem and her long legs.

She raised her eyebrows, smile stretching even further up one side.

"Like what _you_ see?" she joked.

He didn't even miss a beat.

"I really do. It's breathtaking. I kinda want it."

He saw the impact her own words had in his mouth on her, and it abruptly brought out Mamoru-baka's smirk, and he shifted even closer, eyes fixed firmly on hers as he looked down at her.

But then she recovered, and her head tilted in sweet challenge as she nodded toward the storage door beside him. Her expression was one meant to tease, one that full-well knew this was nothing he would _ever_ go for.

He looked at the storage room – a little revolving door with a bull's eye – dark inside.

Her expression derailed when he breathed an 'ok,' and grabbed her hand to pull her off her perch only to back her towards the door.

Her eyes were wide and amused and scandalized and he watched her scan the room to see if anyone was noticing which should be his job, but he was far beyond caring at this point, and he bodily pushed her into the door that gave way behind her hips and then swung closed behind them with a click.

"Mamoru!" she half admonished, half giggled in a tone clearly meant to convey 'what's gotten into you?!' Or, 'who are you and what have you done to my prissy nerd?!'

It gave way for a little mewl as his hand grabbed firmly around her waist. They were surrounded by shelves filled with tools and cables and a few step ladders and frames and he supposed this was where they kept everything needed to change and maintain the exhibition, and light filtered in only through the bull's eye window when he tightened his hold and lifted her up onto a low apothecary cabinet of which the little labels read things like 'bolts' 'screws' 'nylon' 'bulbs white' and 'bulbs vintage', and his mouth and tongue attached itself to the sensitive skin just behind her ear.

"Mamo-chan…" she breathed, her tone now changed to say, 'what's with you today?' but also, 'do go on.'

His hand slipped from her waist to her thigh and pressed into the soft flesh, delighting a little in their position like this, her thighs spread open and clamped around his form between her legs, her skirt hitching up ever so slightly as he dragged his hand beneath and to her inner thigh.

"You promised me dinner," he whispered into her ear as if it were an explanation, then flicked his tongue out to lick along the outer shell of her sensitive ear, and shivered a little to the impact _this_ had on her, the immediate flush that spread down her décoltée, the lift of her chest as she took a deep, shuddering breath, the way her thighs twitched around him and the way her lower lip did this little quiver as her mouth popped open just so briefly, presenting him with the burning urge to lean down and suck it into his mouth.

He did just that with a little hum, and her fingers curled against his arm reflexively as she inhaled sharply and stole the air right from his own lips in the process.

He didn't release it, continued to suckle her plump, warm lower lip with an appreciative moan low in his throat when his fingers found her panties, and she writhed against his hand where his finger traced the edges of it on the junction of her thigh.

When he finally released her lip with a pop, her eyes were a little glazed over, half-lidded and intense, and both her soft, delicate hands clutched at his bicep when he moved his mouth back from her lips to her throat.

She leaned her head back against the wall behind her with a surrendering moan and thud.

"This isn't usually this easy," she hummed with her legs spreading just that little wider, causing him to press more insistently against her.

He chuckled against her jugular and felt her thighs quiver just so slightly as he brushed a finger up and down the center of her panties ever so softly, then moved back to its edge. "Are you calling me easy?"

She bucked her hips in a way that was so miniscule he would almost have missed it, and her voice came out breathy and worked up.

"We're in a storage closet with a window in the door and there's hordes of people outside and you said yes to it."

He shrugged. "It's dark."

He absolutely coveted the way she shivered as he let his other hand slowly travel from her neck, down her collarbone, catching in the fabric of her dress and dragging it down with him ever so slightly until he circled one peaked nipple over the black cotton fabric.

" _How_?" she moaned.

"How what?" he rasped too low against her throat, his tongue returning immediately against the junction of her neck, his hand traveling further to stroke one finger along the underside of her breast.

And was dialing it up to a hundred, touching her in a way that played her, dropping his voice down into the frequency that made her hum beneath his fingertips and it was working. And when he moved his fingers once again to flick along her panties, he smirked against her throat to find them damp.

She mewled in that frustrated hue when he removed his hand again to stroke along her thigh, and mewled again in a completely different way when his other hand softly pinched her nipple through the fabric with two fingers and pulled.

Her voice was sounding deliciously wrecked when she tried to speak "How are y— How are you a-agreeing to this?" she managed under gasps and he nibbled along her throat. "You'd n-never agree to this unless, unless—" she broke off.

The rest went unspoken. Unless she turned him on for hours on end until he broke. This was usually the only way a thing like this would _ever_ happen and she was absolutely right.

"Well, you have," he moaned into her skin.

The noise she made in answer was all confusion and all sigh and he bit with no pressure at all into the hollow skin above her collarbone. "Usako, you've been turning me on all day."

It was when she stiffened up that his eyes blew wide and he realised his horrendous, giant, blaring mistake. Oh _god_. Mistake. _Mistakemistakemistake_. Take it _back_ —

"I mean—" he fumbled for words, drawing back.

But the damage was done.

Her expression transformed from a surprised 'Oh' to a rather mischievous 'O-hohoho!' to a big, glaring, 'OH?!' in a matter of seconds.

Then she punched him in the arm.

"You've been 'How nice, honey'-ing me all this time even when it _worked_?!" she whisper shouted at him, clamping her thighs around him to keep him prisoner. "I thought you were being a clueless rock!"

What— He blinked. "Usako…" —had it… had it been on _purpose_?!

His eyes flashed into an answering glare immediately. "I don't 'sext', Usako."

He realised his airquotes had been too much the second he had made them, and she raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

Her eyes took on that challenging glint that really meant no good for him.

No.

He shook his head. "Usako, no."

Really. He knew it was hopeless. He had no base to argue, here. _He_ was the one with the aching, throbbing, sad boner pressed against her.

She nodded with too bright eyes. "Usako, yes," she said, all the challenge in her eyes.

And then her hand was around his neck and slipping against his scalp and curling in this way that made him weak no matter what and her tongue was in his mouth and now _he_ was the one to mewl.

But before his hands could find purchase in her luscious hips, she slipped out from under him and hopped down from the apothecary even to his protesting whimpers.

"No, Usako, wait!"

She grinned too widely, winked too knowingly, and didn't give a damn towards his throbbing plight. She was out the door, holding it open for him.

"C'mon. I _did_ promise you dinner," she said with a wide, cheeky, bright and cheerful grin.

Swallowing hard, he adjusted his shirt once more and flushed brightly upon following when he saw someone had been politely waiting outside with a blush and averted eyes and a cardboard box in his hands who walked into the storage room after Mamoru exited, and switched on the light behind them to rummage for something or other.

Usagi mingled just a little bit longer even when there almost no people left to mingle with anymore, and dinner, to his utter dismay, turned out to be actual dinner.

Michiru and Haruka joined them for a surprisingly down-to-earth hearty bowl of most delicious Ramen in a small owner-run store two side-streets away from the bustle that Usagi had found because Usagi just found these things. For the remainder of the night he then endured both Usagi's way too familiar appreciative moans into her meal as well as Michiru's not so subtle underhanded teasing that made clear that word had travelled fast about what apparently everyone assumed had happened in that storage room.

Except it hadn't. And it didn't for the rest of the night. When Haruka offered them a ride and had asked where to drop them off, Usagi shot him that challenging smile and requested to be brought home to her place.

Michiru snickered at his disgruntled face for the whole remainder of the short drive back to his lonely, _empty_ apartment, afterwards.

* * *

It didn't happen for the next few days of the week either and Mamoru was slowly combusting.

Apparently Usagi had decided until he texted back in a way she deemed acceptable, he was going to stew. Kept throwing his own arguments back at her and reminding him he needed to study for his exams anyway, so her not staying at his place was a good thing in that way.

Somewhere along the line this had become a battle of wills and he was being slaughtered. He was being very slowly murdered is what was happening here. Killed indeed very softly by text message after text message.

And Mamoru was rubbish at _texting_ as it was, never-mind sexting. He didn't know why she got it into her head to keep trying!

And… what would he even… 'I'd like to … put my...mouth on your...body? …' No. No, he wouldn't. No chance. This ain't happening.

Usako, 10:53 am.  
This is torture for me too, you know.  
I'm not kidding when I keep telling you I'm like, really, really, REALLY fucking endlessly horny for you by now. This is working me up, too!

At least he'd learned his lesson and was wearing looser pants by now so that the chronic boner at least didn't _hurt_ so much. Still, reading this was doing him in. He could barely follow his classes today as it was. (Or yesterday, or the day before. He'd have so much catching up and reviewing to do when this was finally over).

He punched his answer into his phone and had to keep himself from grumbling out loud.

Mamoru, 10:53 am.  
Well, you have the choice to end this.

Her reply came promptly.

Usako, 10:53 am.  
SO DO YOU.

He put the phone back and re-focused on the slides. Tried to, at least. Then he snatched his phone back up when it vibrated noisily against the wood of his desk because he'd left it lying out and ignored the side-eye of his co-ed one seat over.

Usako, 10:56 am.  
Well I am. Btw. Really, really horny for you.

He inhaled harshly and yet for some reason, even when he knew inevitably what was gonna follow as he stared at the animated three dots next to her name, he didn't put the phone away. Didn't ignore it. Because really, there was no way he could. He just wasn't this strong.

Usako, 10:56 am.  
Mamo-chan, you have no idea. I'm so wet for you I'm dripping. Tell me what I'm doing to you and then come relieve me of my problem, please.

Her tactics had clearly changed over the course of this and he was ready to cry.

Usako, 10:57 am.  
I'd do anything for you to burst into this bloody office right now, bend me over my desk, flip up my skirt and pound into me…

The imagery drove into him so hard he _quivered_. Full body shudder as he crossed his legs painfully and cursed his life and no, no, no, don't _imagine_ it—

He imagined it. Of course, he imagined it.

He bit the inside of his cheek hard.

Mamoru, 10:58 am.  
Fuck Usako I'm in CLASS

Just a second for her reply, this time, and he continued his death glare at his phone, as if it would magically procure the love of his life underneath his desk and make it all better…

Oh god _no_ , don't imagine _that_ _too—_

Usako, 10:58 am.  
So?

There were a number of things he could have texted back that would have been the truth and probably also gotten him instantly out of his misery by falling into sexting-category just by the nature of its content. Like, 'So, I've been having a hard-on so purple and hard for like one and a half weeks I'm going insane and yes, yes I really wanna come into your office and fuck you on your desk, thank you very much, also _you're doing this to me on purpose_.'

But he wouldn't budge, and so he typed something different, of course.

Mamoru, 11:00 am.  
This is really hard for me.

The truth and nothing but the truth.

He had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering at what she answered.

Usako, 11:01 am.  
Want me to come lick it?

Too close. Too close to what his imaginary Usagi had been doing underneath his desk right here anyway. Too _close_.

Had he said his boner didn't hurt in these pants? Because he was wrong.

Mamoru, 11:01 am.  
USAKO!

Usako, 11:01 am.  
I could also sit on it... whatever you want.

Side-eye from one seat over again when Mamoru couldn't keep in the whimper this time and he slapped his hand over his mouth, then squeezed his eyes shut ever so briefly to calm down.

Oh _god_. Usagi here with him in the back row, reaching for his belt and his zipper as she stared him down, straddled him on the wooden folding chairs and with a relieved moan bursting from her lips slowly, slowly sank down on—

He ripped his eyes back open. Closing them was a bad, bad, very bad decision.

Usako, 11:03 am.  
Tell me, then get over here.

Usako, 11:03 am.  
Come put it in my mouth.

Usako, 11:04 am.  
Just tell me and you can do anything you want to me, Mamo-chan.

He was so over-stimulated he couldn't even deal, and he closed his eyes despite better judgement and swallowed the moan right down. He needed not to show. He needed to—

 _Come put it in my mouth._

 _You can do anything you want to me, Mamo-chan._

He nearly jizzed his pants and it wouldn't even be the first time this week. Usagi had opened Pandora's box on his behalf, and she made him live through every sexual fantasy he'd ever had of her on repeat and she usually did it _while he sat in class_.

Usako, 11:06 am.  
We can do it the other way around too. There's something about your pretty, pretty face between my legs…

This time he moaned out loud.

He just barely managed to fake a cough mid-moan, and with his face pulsing and red and flushed to the roots of his head (a hard task all in itself since all of his blood had taken up permanent residence elsewhere), he'd grabbed all his stuff and pressed his notepad and book bag to his crotch as he fled the lecture hall under the bewildered sideways glance of his professor and the slow, judging head-shaking of his co-ed one seat over.

He fled into the library with his lungs burning and some head turning, and dropped his books and bag noisily in the most secluded corner he knew, then breathed consciously and harshly to try and get his cock back under his own control, even if he knew it was a lost cause.

But he calmed down enough to sit down, drink his whole water bottle in one go, and to flip his textbook open. He could review what he'd learn in class on his own. He didn't need a professor to slide-karaoke it for him.

But Usagi wasn't done with him.

As if she could read his mind, his phone vibrated the minute he felt he could somewhat concentrate again.

Usako, 11:28 am.  
I want your hands on me. On my thighs, slowly spreading me open.

Really, the most sensible thing would have been to switch off his phone. But…that would mean not reading these words, and as torturing as they were, there was really no way this was an option.

He really didn't know why it was that they hit him so, why they had him so paralyzed and shaking, why he couldn't BUT imagine just that, him on his knees, his palms dragging up her thighs to do what she was saying, and his cock throbbed at the image his head procured, of her face contorted in bliss as he greeted her clit with a stroke of his tongue.

Usako, 11: 28 am.  
And then I want your dick slowly stroking me until you fill me up all slow and hard.

Or, you know, _that_.

It would take him about 19 minutes to get from here to her office. Maybe 15 if he speeded. And by now, admitting defeat really didn't sound so bad.

Who was he kidding, she was going to win anyway. When it came to sex, she always had him beat. Like all things indulgent, Usagi knew how to enjoy herself. She was a master at it. The Queen of Unapologetic Wants and Needs. Be it sleeping in until the afternoon without a guilty conscience, buying stacks of manga without checking her budget obsessively, eating dessert for breakfast, suggesting sex in storage rooms or sending him suggestive and explicit text to torture him while he sat in class.

He'd never learned to let loose as much as Usagi had. But she was a patient teacher, most of the time. Her lessons usually were simple ones, ones he learned to embrace over time even if they cost him quite an effort. Getting him to sneak snacks into the theater, making him put syrup in his coffee, hiding away his alarm clock on Sundays.

Or sexting him until he caved.

Really, this was just another of her lessons. A really, really, _really_ hard lesson.

 _Just fucking text her._

His forehead hit the wooden desk and he breathed in harshly. He was so hard he felt his pulse in his cock, and whenever he let his mind stray only a _second_ he was seeing himself slam into her so hard and fast she cried out, her back arching, her thighs quivering and wrapped around him, her face contorted in that silent scream as she chanted his—

 _That. Just text her that and you could do that in 15 minutes._

Usako, 11:31 am.  
Please. Just tell me. I want to see you tonight. I need you in me.

He cupped his erection and pinched it painfully to get himself under grips, and then he flipped the page back to start again.

Mamoru, 11:32 am.  
I'm meeting up with a study group tonight anyway. We'll study late into the night. I won't even be home.

Judging by the fact she didn't answer again for a while, he must have disappointed her about half as much as he had himself at least.

He even managed to be pretty productive for a while. He decided to skip lunch (food was too strong a reminder of Usagi and Usagi's lips wrapped around things), reviewed all of the lesson he'd not been able to pay attention to and then skipped, as well as its syllabus contents for next week and even managed to write a few more flash cards for his upcoming Immunology exam.

He was kind of proud of himself, considering he was studying with a cock that had apparently decided to never be completely flaccid ever again, and a mind that made himself glance at his phone every five minutes, refusing to acknowledge the fact he was hoping for another text.

He also refused to acknowledge the relieved sigh and speed with which he snatched up his phone from its noisy dance on the cherry wood desktop hours later when she _finally_ texted again.

Usako, 4:08 pm.  
I'm getting off early today and I have some ideas for later.

He didn't think of pretending he hadn't read every single of her texts the second they arrived and texted back immediately.

Mamoru, 4:08 pm.  
Later?

He knew of course that he was walking straight into a trap, and he would regret this in less than a minute, but he couldn't help himself.

Usako, 4:08 pm.  
When you've told me what this does to you and you ditch your study date to fuck me instead.

Yup, there it was.

Mamoru, 4:09 pm.  
Usako

When he sighed it was as if all that breath went straight down to his crotch to stir him right back to full attention. It really didn't take a lot these days, it was pathetic, really. He was wound so tight she could just breathe on him and he'd come—

Breathe on him with her pink, warm lips just _so_ close to his cock to barely _not_ touch, but if she licked her lips is would graze him and he'd—

Usako, 4:10 pm.  
Wanna hear my ideas? It involves a lot of teasing. I want you to be a little rough with me.

—and he'd curl his hand around the back of her head and hold her steady as he thrus—

He snapped his book shut. He needed to leave to meet up with his study group soon-ish anyway. If he left now, he had enough time to walk there. He could calm down on the way _and_ avoid another Usagi-text-induced-train-pervert debacle.

He sighed through grit teeth. He should have switched off his phone. He really should have. What was he thinking? Why was he never really _thinking_ anymore?

Mamoru, 4:11 pm.  
Usako…

Usako, 4:11 pm.  
Hm?

Mamoru, 4:11 pm.  
This is torture.

Logically, he knew of course that this was very much his own fault for being so condescending about the whole thing in the first place. But he also knew that Usagi was getting an absolute kick out of this. That she'd probably googled sexting examples or, _worse_ , asked Minako for advice and they'd set down and compiled ammunition, delighted in making him squirm like this. For the sole reason that he'd made fun of it vehemently as he did with all things that were a little too indulgent and out of his comfort zone at the start. He and his stupid, arrogant airquotes had given her the perfect reason and he was suffering the consequences.

Usako, 4:12 pm.  
Good. I want you really hard.

Well, she got that part down. He was in agony. Painful, hard, throbbing agony. _Constantly_.

Usako, 4:13 pm  
Is it working? Are you hard for me?

 _I am. I really, really, really am._

But he couldn't say that. He'd have lost if he did. And so he pocketed his phone, breathed heavily, and packed his bag.

The two co-eds that hosted their study session chose a café not far away from campus – a small place of a thing about a 10-minute walk away from Mita station more towards Azabu-Juuban.

He picked a large detour that unconsciously put him in a path where it would have been so easy to take a turn and walk straight to Usagi's…

It was only the thought that her parents might really like him, and didn't really bother what Usagi did now especially since she was working and only living there to save up for their future, could move out any second if she wanted, yet still he felt weird barging in there with a boner _while they were awake._

And as if she could read his mind, his phone vibrated just in the moment he looked longingly down the street that would take him to her.

Usako, 4:36 pm.  
I'm at home now and in the tub. No one else is home. Sprayhead didn't help TOO much tho.

Oh, what the holy fucking fuck.

He couldn't believe his traitorous fingers.

Mamoru, 4:36 pm.  
No one else is home?

And his traitorous lungs holding his breath as he stared down at his phone, standing on this street like a moron, waiting for her to answer.

Usako, 4:37 pm.  
Nope. They're in Sapporo. Shingo's ice hockey match, remember? My parents went with him for support.

Usagi's naked, glistening, wet body in her tub, hair curling around her face, nipples just so grazing the water; him stepping into the water with her and running his hands down, down, down until she gasps, water splashing all around them as she arches her back and—

 _Shit_. Shit, shit, shit.

He took four, five weak hurried steps, almost a jog, into the direction of her house until he jolted to a stop and turned around in his original direction.

Study group. Immunology. Oncology. Several judging people in a room studying cancer and substances ending up in needles. Dying people with diseases. Unappetizing, unerotic diseases. That. Think about that.

He took an even larger detour, bought and ate an onigiri from the nearest conbini on the way because he hadn't eaten during all of this and also because it left him a few minutes alone time to collect himself until he had to be bonerless among people.

He ended up arriving right on time and had all his flashcards and notes open and on their table when his phone buzzed again.

Really. Why he had no self-control to _just not look_ was beyond him.

Usako, 4:59 pm.  
Minako also did take me toy shopping last week, so... I could try out the new pretty pink and purple one…

He choked, didn't even pretend to listen to what Kobayashi was saying about oxygen-dependent and -independent pathways of antimicrobial armamentarium in Neutrophils. It all went far, far, far into the back of his perception, all drowned out by the image of Usagi wet and delicious in her tub as she came fluttering around a fake penis instead of him.

Mamoru, 4:59 pm.  
No!

He couldn't deal. This was to much. He held his phone in an alarmed way and he knew someone was asking him if everything was ok, but he couldn't even nod or pretend or anything.

Usagi's flushed, pink chest as she started to climb toward release, her breathing that became harsher and breathier, those little mewls she did as she started to clench and flutter and grow stiff, her hand pumping between her legs instead of—

And he couldn't even _watch_?

Oh god.

Usako, 5:00 pm.  
Why not?

He typed at the same time, sent it off at the same time her message arrived.

Mamoru, 5:00 pm.  
Don't put anything in you. Please.

Usako, 5: 00 pm  
Why not?  
Because you wanna be?

He licked his lips.

"Uh, Mamoru?" Akagi said next to him, bewildered.

Mamoru, 5:00 pm.  
I can't take it. Please.

Someone placed a coffee cup in front of him. Probably the waitress. He didn't even look up. The guys were talking over his head. His name was mentioned. He didn't care.

Usako, 5:00 pm.  
What can't you take about it?

He squeezed his eyes shut. Refrained from reaching down and squeezing other things. When he opened them back up, strained and worked up and _sweating_ , five pairs of eyes were watching him as if he'd gone insane.

He swallowed. "Uh… o- oxygen-dependent pathways…" he mumbled and sorted through his flashcards with shaking hands.

Kobayashi raised an eyebrow, Hasegawa was clearing his throat and nodding. "Yes. Well, as Kobayashi was saying, it wasn't clear in the lecture if these also included—"

Mamoru gripped his pen tighter. He only glanced at the preview when his phone flashed again, and he nearly whimpered, grabbing his pen tighter and inching his chair closer to the tabletop so no one could ever see a glimpse of his crotch as all cost.

Usako, 5:03 pm.  
I'll imagine it's you the whole time—

Oh, _fuck_.

Akagi was onto him all the time, calling him out about every 5 minutes because his concentration was nearly nonexistent, his leg wriggling so much he knew it was driving everyone at the table insane, but he somehow made it almost forty-five minutes before breaking and snatching up his phone even when Akagi gave him what Usagi would have categorized as the 'stink-eye'.

He was usually running these study groups. He was usually the one providing answers. Not the distracted and scatter-brained one. This was not his style.

Except his girlfriend broke his brain.

Mamoru, 5:44 pm.  
…Usako?

Her answer came like thunder after lightning.

Usako, 5:44 pm.  
Yes?

He swallowed heavily, bit his lip.

His coffee was cold and untouched.

Mamoru, 5:44 pm.  
Did you…?

Usako, 5:44 pm.  
Did I put a pink vibrator into me?

He inhaled harshly through his nose. No, no, no, imagination, don't. _Don't_.

Usako, 5: 45 pm.  
Hmmm. Wouldn't you like to know?

No. Not 'like'. He _needed_ to know. He needed to know if he had to get up and walk out of this café with a boner tenting in his pants to go and rip a sex toy out of his girl to replace it with his cock, and then fuck her and tease her in a way until she promised to never do this to him again.

Usako, 5:47 pm.  
Are you gonna come over now and fuck me into next week already, or do I have to keep dropping more hints?

Fuck. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

Usako, 5:48 pm.  
I could be in your lap in 5 minutes.

He couldn't take it. He grabbed his bag and pressed it against his crotch and left his notes and flashcards discarded on the tabletop and sprinted to the restrooms.

Once inside, he turned the faucet, and, ignoring his own face in the mirror, bent forward uncomfortably to hold his head underneath cold water.

Only when his teeth began to chatter did he turn the faucet off, gripped the basin with white-knuckled hands and breathed harshly through his mouth, his hair dripping against white porcelain and running down his neck and spine.

It didn't help. It didn't help at all. He was harder than ever before in his life.

He fled into a stall, leant back heavily against the closed door and cursed the ceiling.

Usako, 6:06 pm.  
Or you could come over afterwards. Even if it's late. After your study date is done you could come over and wake me up. Spread my butt-cheeks apart so you can see how wet I am for you and wake me with your cock plunging into me.

He whimpered out loud, hands shaking as he typed.

Mamoru, 6:07 pm.  
This isn't funny, Usako.

Oh holy fuck. Usagi sighing in her sleep, writhing and aroused, his hands stroking the line under her butt, down between her legs and finding her—

Usako, 6:09 pm.  
Just one little dirty text and I'm all yours…

He bit his lip so hard it hurt and tasted like copper.

He breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Repeat. Think of needles and diseases. Repeat.

But she texted again, and he groaned so guttural he wasn't sure if people in the café didn't hear it.

Usako, 6:12 pm  
It really doesn't feel like you.

 _No_. No, no, no, no.

Usako, 6:13 pm  
I want you in me. Would you like to be in me?

 _Yes. Yes so badly._

That was it, he couldn't take it. The hand that wasn't staring at his phone like an addicted, perverted maniac fumbled with his belt, clumsy and breathless and frantically hurried.

Usako, 6:13 pm.  
I want you to come and take it out of me and replace it with your cock. Can you do that?

He couldn't help it, couldn't help the thrust into empty air, couldn't help the traitorous hand that slipped into his jeans and grabbed his painfully hard boner even as he texted back.

Mamoru, 6:13 pm.  
Oh god Usako please.

He started to stroke.

Usako, 6:14 pm.  
I'm all nice and soft and clean from my bath, you know? Can you please come fuck me now?

GODFUCKING _dammit._

He transformed into Tuxedo Mask and exited through the window.

* * *

Really, he didn't know how long it took. It felt like an hour of agony until he flew through her window and pinned her against her wall, but it was probably closer to about 3 minutes. He was completely out of breath when he started stealing her air.

Usagi hadn't even had the audacity to look anything but endlessly, arrogantly pleased – the way _he_ would sometimes look at her, looking impossibly even more enticing on her bed than he'd even imagined in a loosely tied yukata she'd apparently used in lieu of a bathrobe.

That yukata stayed tied for all of two seconds.

"Mmmmh," she hummed against his lips, " _finally_."

He growled and caught her lip with his teeth and lifted her up higher, soft thighs wrapping around him and he pushed against her harder and groaned into her mouth when his throbbing, hurting boner finally made contact with where he wanted to be, even if it was through way too many layers of clothes.

"Finally," he agreed, pinning her there with his crotch to move his hands up to yank at the cotton fabric of her yukata.

One breast sprung free and he latched onto her nipple.

"You didn't sext back, yet," she gasped out, and he sucked harder, because she was way too coherent still after all the torture he'd endured today.

He squeezed her breast, his movements a little frantic, a little harried, a little crazed, and his other hand moved into the opened-up yukata to cup her ass and growled around her puckered, pink nipple in frustration because those stupid gloves, he couldn't _feel_ —

With a flash of light and to her half-moaned, half-whined protest, he de-transformed. He whimpered instantly, grabbed her breast and ass a little tighter in his now bare palms, pressed his already unbuckled slacks harder against her crotch, but it was too much, and he released her nipple with a loud smacking pop and had to breath open-mouthed, cause shit... her breasts, framed so prettily by that open yukata still tied around her waist, her ass, her naked, wet sex grinding against his boxer briefs and cock, dampening the fabric... he groaned loudly, almost painfully at the contact, fueled intoxicatingly by her shudders.

Her fist curled into his shirt, pulling, slipping underneath, and with one hand he grabbed it from her hold and lifted it over his head, shifting clumsily as not to drop her, and shook it off blindly from where it hung weirdly from his other arm, hissing when her fingers stroked along his abs and sides as he was occupied with that awkward sort of hurried dance of a task.

"No, I didn't," he managed to growl just as his shirt finally landed in a pile, and shifted her in his hold, trying to bring her just that little bit higher and resulting in a bounce of hers that made her breasts jiggle beneath his mouth and he whimpered again and stuck his tongue out to graze the very tip of her nipple with the very tip of his tongue. His reward was an arched back and a guttural moan and her breasts thrusting against the flat of his tongue in one jerky movement. He relented, sucked the nipple back into his mouth and hummed in bliss and _home_.

"It's—" she broke off with a gasp as his teeth grazed her areola, his tongue following in reverent worship before he sucked again. "This is not— not how this game works," she managed.

He released her nipple with that wet, almost obscene sound again, unbent his back and pressed his lips against her throat, the soft skin behind her ear, instead, then rocked his hips into hers.

She reacted with that sweet, sweet tortured groan he loved most of all, and her head thrown back against the wall with a soft thud as he grazed the shell of her ear with his tongue and poked his clothed erection against her naked sex. "I know," he whispered, almost broken, "I forfeit. White flag. Mercy."

Then his fingers slipped between them, and he fumbled with her crotch, dragged his fingers up her surprisingly soaking slit and groaned in unison with her, his painfully swollen cock twitching as if it cried along.

Usagi was trembling harshly in his arms, her thighs almost shaking, and when he grazed her entrance just so briefly in his transit along her slit, it clenched against his fingers as if greeting him before he let them travel back up and start to rub, her gritting teeth and strangled moan the most erotic sound in the world.

"You can punish me," he keened into her throat, pressing open-mouthed, panting kisses against her skin. "I'll do anything you want."

His cock was throbbing so hard he thought he might explode.

Her little whimper was almost pitiful, drowned out by her teeth that bit her lip when he swirled his fingers further up, two-fingered, tight, slow circles against her clit, his other hand squeezing her ass and holding on. He licked his lips in shuddering delight, reveling in her quaking thighs around his waist, but shit if he didn't—

She dropped her head into the crook of his neck, wrapped her arms tighter around his shoulders and held on, her breath stuttering in the rhythm of his slick, noisy, rubbing fingers, "Just fuck me already," she breathed right against his ear and he had trouble not to come right then.

Oh, what the—

He bit his lip hard, squeezed his eyes shut and her ass right along and propelled her off the wall and onto her bed.

She fell onto it with a little thud that made her breasts bounce, her thighs spread and her hair disheveled and pupils dilated and lips swollen and—

He had to take a calming breath, stared her down just standing there and she stared back up, and somehow the air was charged between them like it hadn't been in so long and her eyes could read every last embarrassing, shameful fantasy and every dream he'd ever had of her and she opened her thighs a little wider – it made him whimper stupidly, and he jerked to life and peeled down his pants and underwear gracelessly, frantically, clumsily, not even bending down to do so because he had to _watch_ her—

Her yukata was wide open, pushed down her shoulders and pooling behind her hips, fanning open like a beautiful, colorful butterfly on her bed. It was opened up completely but held around her waist by her loose obi, knotted into a messy bow above her exposed navel. She looked like a glistening, delicious present.

In it, Usagi's creamy skin, her slick, wet inner thighs, her heaving chest, those half-lidded, thirsty eyes.

And then her crooked finger, as if it were a magnet connected directly to his straining cock, her tongue slowly licking her lips before her teeth grazed it.

He fell apart, weeping cock pulsing and impatient and he climbed onto her and reached into his present to grab around smooth, creamy-soft Usagi ass under his fingertips to lift her up and align her with him, and with one, slow, deep thrust that made him almost see stars, he drove himself in to the hilt.

She threw her head back and moaned his name and it shuddered through him so hard, his tip jumping inside of her, that he had to clench his fist around the base of his cock to slip out.

But she wouldn't let him. She knew this spiel, when he tried to not come on the spot, and she clenched her walls so hard it was almost a suction inwards keeping him prisoner and he howled and sat back on his heels, cock in his fist jumping free of her.

"Mamo-chan!" she growled, her elbows moving, and she stemmed herself up and bucked her hips at him and almost back onto him, and he needed to slip out of he'd come immediately.

Usagi whimpered and growled simultaneously, giving him that stink-eye.

But he was helpless.

With a tortured whimper and biting his tongue until he tasted blood for the shudder that went through him right to his toes, he dragged his cock up and down her slit and she rose up higher to _watch_ and _god_ —

She mewled that pitiful little sound when he swirled his dick around her clit and back down, and he was still almost losing it while he wasn't even IN her anymore, just barely nudging her inner lips and spreading them apart with the tip of his cock – and then she bucked her hips towards him again and he was sheathed inside her once more and he _howled_ to her shuddered exhale.

He couldn't take it. He sat back, cock slipping out to just the tip inside of her, and she writhed underneath him, haggard pleas falling from her lips as she fucked herself on his tip, and he _couldn't take it_. He grabbed her thighs, pulled and snapped them back around himself, causing her to collapse fully back against the bed and then he rolled his hips in painfully slow, deep strokes against her.

He shuddered bodily, exhaling through his mouth every time he oh-so-slowly filled her up completely, pausing once he was in all the way, bit his lip to her wide-eyed groans when he ceased all movement for that brief moment after every stroke and to her tight clenching around him.

If he didn't go slow this would be over in 5 seconds and he'd waited 429 hours for this.

She growled in frustration, and he brought his sticky fingers back between them to rub his fingers against her in the speed she needed, bit down on his tongue harder when he looked down to see the moisture dribbling down his cock and smeared on her inner thighs every time he withdrew, and he rubbed a little harder, a little faster, around and around, once across, around and around again, like she'd shown him so long, long ago.

"Oh _god_ ," she cried, head hitting back against her mattress, her toes curling against his shins, "Oh god make this last. Please, make this last."

He was an overstimulated, tightly wound mess, but he nodded breathlessly, choked out an "I'm _trying_ ," and rolled his hips into her even slower, if stronger.

"Don't come," she hissed, " _Please_ , Mamo-chan, not before—"

"I'm _trying_ ," he repeated through gritted teeth, circled his fingers around her clit a little faster, slick and wet and smacking noisily and her hips were becoming less rhythmic, her pleas reducing to mere babbles, then chants of his name as her walls began to clench around him and he tried hard not to sob. Too much, too much, too much.

Her bucking hips no longer matched, her babbling ceased completely, and he cried out in relief when her release hit her first and he finally plunged in faster, just that tiny fraction, just that little, tiny bit harder and she clenched so hard and so long as he rode her through her orgasm, he didn't even notice he'd fallen forward, didn't even notice he'd cradled her face to watch those wide-open, darkened eyes as they came so beautifully.

When she finally returned to him, her vagina fluttering around him as if to greet him, he came harder than he ever had in his life, sensation rolling across him in white, warm, flashing waves and he came, and came and came, and her arms wound around his shoulders again and he was pressed to her chest and he whimpered because he was coming still, rocking his hips into her even when he'd already collapsed onto her in exhaustion.

He breathed hard, all nerve endings on high alert and tingling, and he could feel his heartbeat in his gums when he finally fully came to, her hands carding through his sweat-damp head of hair pillowed on her breast.

It took him a long while in which he simply re-learned steady breathing (hard, so, so hard) and thanked the universe for this woman and the invention of sex and the invention of windows and IUDs and phones, especially phones.

"Usako?" he panted out, breath stirring his hair and puffing against her nipple.

"Mhmm?" she made, and he felt it vibrating against his skin, and even with his sensations returning slowly he felt utterly gutted and oh so pleasantly boneless and he decided to stay here – she was a superhero, she could take his weight.

"Please never do that again?" he whimpered.

She chuckled and it moved him up and down, but her fingers in his hair didn't slow.

"I never came this hard ever before," he babbled into her soft breast.

Another chuckle.

"I noticed," she remarked, and he heard the amusement loud and clear.

"I've never been aroused this much ever before," he added. His filter was apparently all fucked out the window. "I was so _hard_ , Usako. All _day_. All _week_."

"Mmmhh-hmm." Her voice was practically a grin, and her fingers felt so _good_ against his scalp. "You sure you never want me to do that again...?"

He frowned, closed his mouth with a snap around his heaving breath. "Let me think about that…" he murmured finally, after a little while, and she laughed out loud.

* * *

 _(Yeah, torturing Mamoru has kind of become a hobby, ngl…)_

 _Reviews are love :)_


	9. Minako, Sex Educator

_Smutember is almost over, and here is one more piece from me. This one is quite close to my heart, but I will tell you why in my end notes instead, lol. This has been a fun ride – but don't fret. The Lemon Tree Series is independent of smutember, and I will continue it on, even if definitely not in the updating speed as during smutember. Also, there are still quite a number of tropes on the smutember trope list that I am at least considering to try out and write – so if you want to see anything in particular, please let me know, because that's always the biggest motivator for me to write anything!_

 _Anyway, my always-thanks to my beta UglyGreenJacket, who betas for me even during her TWO FULL TIME JOBS, and also for everyone who has reviewed during smutember! Thank you guys so much for the fuel to keep me going, I appreciate you in ways that are hard to put into appropriate words!_

 _ANYWAY HAVE FUN!_

* * *

Minako, Sex Educator

A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series, Written For Smutember 2019

* * *

Because of the inevitable nature of it, Chiba Mamoru quite often found himself in the company of one Aino Minako.

Be it at the Crown sitting almost mute in close proximity to his sunshine girlfriend, or studying in peace next to the most comfortable of all study companions, Ami. Afternoons at Hikawa, evenings at the Tsukino household, Sunday strolls at the park, private and formerly romantic dates at cozy cafes or noisy establishments - Aino Minako had a talent of showing up out of thin air and then stubbornly sticking around, like a particular brand of annoying poltergeist in Mamoru's life.

And she had a favorite topic.

"Ok, so can we talk about penetration?" Minako said in the way one might swing the topic around to outrageous pizza toppings or people who should not have pets, loud and clear for a group of strangers who sat in the booth over to swing their heads around to her.

" _Oh_ joy," Mamoru remarked sarcastically, being completely ignored, and immediately fished a book from his bag.

The annoyed groans were long history, he couldn't even remember the last time Ami uttered her formerly trademark, blushingly hissed 'Minako!' as she looked around. Nowadays, Minako barely earned an eye roll from the girls, and apparently the duty today fell to Rei to shoot her with a look and a "Really?", and both he and Ami simply flipped open their respective books and checked out of the conversation.

At least he pretended to. The books were mostly for hiding in his case.

"Like seriously," Minako went on, completely unperturbed, and stole the decorative orange slice off Ami's smoothie glass and began to pick it apart. "Why exactly is porn ONLY penetration? Penetrating _everything._ It's so exhausting watching all these sore vaginas. You just wanna give these poor girls a hot bath and some gentle tongue."

" _Minako_!" Ami elbowed her finally, scandalized.

Well, maybe the groans weren't completely history. Mamoru blushed, scooted a little in his seat, earning a curious look from Usagi next to him, and held his book a little higher.

"Actually, I wonder about this too…" Makoto said with an apologetic shrug, picking at her sandwich, and Minako shook her orange peel in her direction with a ' _Thank_ you,' motion, before continuing.

"Anyway, I think all men are brainwashed, and we need to do something about it," Minako concluded, and Mamoru lifted both eyebrows behind his book, but said nothing.

(He'd long since learned his lesson and no longer started complaining about Minako's gross overgeneralisations and, since he knew she didn't actually mean any harm, instead chose to not react to anything anymore that started with 'all men'… Not that he ever said a lot in these conversations anyway.)

"I mean, clearly it's porn that teaches them it's all about the penetration, right? Surely they can't learn this from experience?" Minako went on, Makoto nodding along. "And isn't that so stupid? It's not where the money lies and at the same time it makes them so _anxious_ too… Like, are they gonna last? Are they gonna come too fast? Can they be all pornstar about it this one time? They're working themselves up so much over it that it sucks out all the fun for them, too? When it's like, the most overrated thing in all of sex?!"

It was these conversations that he was keenly aware of _everything_ his girlfriend was doing. And right now, she was nodding along with a little shrug, and it made his mind run off with it and this information and recount every single time they'd ever had sex to see what he was doing wrong.

I mean, he _did_ penetrate… Like, of course he alternated… but, was he doing it wrong?

Rei rolled her eyes, mumbled something about this being the 'stupid foreplay discussion' all over again, just the other way around, and Minako threw her a quick, appalled look but promptly continued fully unperturbed.

" _Sure_ , it _can_ be magic, but… c'mon who of you gets off ONLY on penetration, like, usually?" Minako threw into the round. Ami's book went up like a shield, though clearly Makoto was completely invested in this conversation at this point judging by the force of her nods, while Rei and Usagi could count as quite unfazed, shrugging. "And _when_ you do, it takes FOREVERRR like this, like who the fuck wants that as their only meal all the time? Everything in consideration, you know?"

"Moderation," Ami corrected, mumbling, and Minako waved it off.

He exhaled slowly. He wasn't doing this wrong. He was using his hands and his mouth and positions that stimulated her clit, and he _knew_ Usagi had fun—

The boys one booth over weren't even pretending not to listen anymore, faces bright red and staring at each other as if Minako was opening their eyes to a truth that should have been quite obvious or maybe never uttered.

"Yup," a different voice jumped in, and Mamoru physically jumped, though really, he should know better. Unazuki had appeared at their booth out of nowhere, ignoring the other patrons and thunking a tray full of drinks on their table, none of which were for them. "In fact, I had the best sex of my life with a dude who could barely get it up!"

"Yes! _Thank_ you!" Minako exclaimed, waving at Unazuki in a 'best example'- way. "Same. I swear I was _so relieved_ this one time when I was kinda sore anyway and this one dude was like SUPER nervous, said he had like, an erectile dysfunction or something and comes too fast during penetration?"

Meanwhile, Mamoru and Ami did that weird dance in which they suddenly switched. Ami apparently had grown comfortable enough to come out of hiding and rested her chin in her palm in interest while Mamoru now was the one slowly disappearing further and further down the bench and into his book. It was terrifying, and yet he would never admit exactly how educational these conversations tended to be, which somehow made it worse.

If Minako ever found out just _how much_ of his skill came from these conversations, he would go up in flames and die immediately. She could never, _ever_ find out.

And the things Aino Minako had accidentally taught him this way were almost _innumerable_. The sheer _number_ of tricks he'd learned this way, yet would never in a million lifetimes admit to willingly…

 _Kissing is a job for both hands._

 _Foreplay starts long before the first touch and also is a stupid word._

 _The good lovers are those who know how to massage._

 _There's no patch of skin incapable of tingling if stroked slow and sensually._

 _Setting totally matters._

 _Adjust pressure, depth and speed to how fast your partner is panting - be it a kiss or a dick._

 _Curled fingers and knuckles casually stroking against the Magic Spots (aka skin folds – anything from the wrinkles on the inside of the wrist or the back of the knee, panty lines, the underside of a breast, to even just the soft skin between fingers) are 'mewlworthy' and 'get the horn on'._

 _Curling your fingers down there is a job well done._

 _If you forget the clit you might as well go home._

 _The most sensitive nerves are located directly at the entrance of the vagina – going all the way back out does way more than going absolutely deep._

 _Spread her ass a little; she'll feel you more._

 _Superior men eat out regularly and willingly._

 _'_ _Bend her over when you bend her over': If you arch her back with your hand when pushing in from behind, it makes you go way deeper, way slicker, way more 'badaboom'._ (Minako liked to illustrate this with grand hand gestures and acrobatic body contortions and a weirdly slowed-down and enunciated pronunciation that always made him roll his eyes behind the book of choice he was currently hiding behind and pretending to read.)

 _Sometimes a girl just wants to feel a bit of fingernails._

 _Hickeys are undervalued._

 _So is lube. Everything is more intense with lube._

 _Support her weight. Hands under butt, thighs over shoulders, an arm across her collarbone when coming in from the backdoor._

And, newly, apparently,

 _Penetration is totally overrated anyway._

Mamoru's _entire_ and _way too successful_ trick box in getting his girlfriend off consisted of Aino Minako's wisdom and if _anyone_ ever discovered this fact, he would die in a rather overdramatic puddle of embarrassment.

"You know," Minako continued, gesticulating wildly, "This dude felt so bad about this, he did _ALL the works._ Before there was any dick even _in_ _sight_ , he'd done it all, super attentive."

Unazuki gave an appreciative sigh, and Mamoru held his book a little higher.

"Hands, mouth, the whole, delicious, amazing program, and he did it _really well_ and even when I was like _panting_ for his cock he only inserted the tip, totally shallowly, and kept pulling out and doing that delicious swirl thing and I _swear_ when he _finally_ came in deep I came ON THE SPOT."

Minako's hands by this point were up in the air and the boys in the next booth looked like they were having a stroke. Obviously, the person who might have put an end to this or sent them off the premises for public indecency was standing right beside them and wolf-whistling Minako along. Unazuki really had questionable work-morals, sometimes.

"And so did _he,_ like, three strokes afterwards, and was then so embarrassed over it that that he KEPT APOLOGIZING! Can you believe this? Dude did EVERYTHING right and he was NEAR TEARS ashamed because he thought he'd done me a great disservice just because he thought it was a big deal that he couldn't poke me long enough. How did we let it get to this point, how?!"

She banged her latte glass on the table in her worked up outrage.

"I don't think I personally let it get to this point," Rei deadpanned.

" _Well, someone must have_!" Minako ranted, wriggling the orange peel at Rei now, who grabbed it from her hand with an annoyed eye roll and threw it into her empty lemonade glass.

Usagi slurped her milkshake, and when her eyes found his, checking in on him, he tried _so hard_ not to blush and just give her a nonchalant shrug instead. It somehow seemed to work, and she scooted a little closer into his side as he lifted up one arm to allow her into his side, then draped it over the booth behind and around her.

"Why this obsession?" Minako went on. "Why does the average guy seem to think he has to pound into me for half an hour for him to be good in bed? It _must_ be the porn! He came hard, _I_ came _hard_ , and I swear it was a fucking _blessing_. He was so _attentive_. So...so... That TONGUE I'm telling you. Boys with cock insecurities they give such good—"

"Right," Rei interrupted her. "We get it, go on."

"How many boys with 'cock insecurities' have you had sex with?" Unazuki asked.

Minako shrugged. "Just the one. He was the guy I met at that party last Saturday?"

A chuckle from Makoto and a snort from Rei. "Right. So, 'this one time' was last night, then?"

"Well, maybe two or three. Sometimes you just never find out," Minako added with a shrug, ignoring the comment.

Makoto huffed and picked a tomato out of her sandwich. It squished a little as she bit on it.

" _Do_ they think that though?" Usagi asked with a thoughtful, far-away frown, and Mamoru was immediately relieved that she had her doubts.

"'They'?" Makoto asked.

"I mean not _all_ , _obviously_ , but like, a lot of guys? Do they think that? That penetration is everything?"

He was so, so, so relieved at her confused, disbelieving look. So, so, _so_ relieved. And so finally, he could snap his book shut and lean back and move his arm from the back of the booth down to her shoulder with the kind of relieved sigh that he painfully tried to mask over into a blank and not at all self-satisfied look.

"I mean surely most people know most porn is far from actual enjoyable sex?" Usagi said with a frown.

Minako, Makoto and Unazuki both gave her the same kind of look as if it were rehearsed. The same kind of tilted, 'Oh you lucky, naïve little flower'-look that boosted his ego more than he'd ever be prepared to admit.

If it weren't for the sigh and heavy double pat that Unazuki gave his shoulder that caused him to directly flush again.

"Well, most people only ever see other sex in porn, right?" Makoto ventured, receiving an encouraging nod from Minako. "And then if no one ever talks about it? And it looks like typical cis-guys especially don't actually really talk about it? And then so often their partners feel too awkward too and never really tell them either? What else are they supposed to think, I guess?"

Minako's chin met her palm in a sad huff.

Mamoru frowned. Because yes, while he hated finding himself in these overgeneralized conversations, he was pretty sure, if these girls didn't talk about ' _it'_ this often, he'd be one of the ones they were complaining about.

"Oh..." Usagi blinked, looked back at Minako for answers. "But… but... really?!"

Minako leaned back. "Well *I* don't know?" She shrugged. "Ask a man!"

Usagi's eyes whipped up to his in expectation, and he raised his arms in immediate surrender and fear, shaking his head slowly.

He was _not_ going to analyze his porn-watching history with Minako. No way. Not in a million years.

Minako snorted. "Oh, he doesn't count."

While Mamoru just shrugged (and to be honest, knowing that in conversations about 'all men did…' he apparently didn't actually 'count' as male was mostly kind of a relief), Usagi's face flushed in cutest, sweetest appallment, and he refrained from squeezing her shoulder. "Why does he not count?" she bit out, sounding a little bit like an enraged baby chick.

"Oh c'mon," Rei cut in, and it was at this point that he finally started feeling a tiny bit insulted, too. "You _know_ he doesn't count."

Usagi's face was all the fury and she rose a little in her seat. " _What_?!"

Mamoru cleared his throat, and Minako's eyes whipped to his, and he froze.

"Well, no, actually, he _does_ count," she said, eyes fixed on him.

While Mamoru stiffened in alarm, Usagi settled back down, leaning back against his arm in immediate appeasement… until Minako continued.

"I mean, have you ever heard him _actually_ say something in these conversations?" she said, eyes still on him, calling him out, eyebrows raised in challenge.

And then all eyes were on him, even _Ami's_ , and he tried not to shrink back. Instead, he flipped his book back open uncomfortably.

Minako leant back languidly and crossed her arms over her chest slowly, all the victory in her smirk. "Point proven," she said. " _This_ vanilla cookie doesn't talk about sex _either_."

Mamoru grumbled a little into his book, even when Usagi exploded on his behalf next to him.

* * *

But he listened. He listened very, very attentively.

Pretty much during the year he was inconvenienced due to his own death, Minako seemed to have lost her filter. So, to him, returning to the land of the star-seed-holding, it had come pretty much as an overnight shock to hear Minako discuss these topics over… anything, really.

(Or maybe it had started that one time she'd accidently two-timed two of their enemies, and he simply hadn't noticed.)

At first, these conversations had been objectively rather tame (even if they'd managed to make him flush even more than those today at the time). Sexual innuendos aplenty, suggestive jokes galore, but mostly rather innocent, given her own inexperience at the time despite her very vocal mouth about it all.

But with the months and years and the day Minako actually had started to put all this theory into action, it had only gotten worse.

The first time he'd started to appreciate it was when he and Usagi had started to put theory into action as well.

He'd been terrified as hell. They'd waited for _so long_ and the threat of making it 'special' loomed over his head so heavily he cursed himself for ever denying Usagi's advances in the past.

And from what he understood it was normal that the first time a couple had sex wasn't all that perfect, but when they were done, and she hadn't 'finished', it had worked him up for days.

The next time Minako had publicly complained about what her last date was doing very wrong (or very right, and why couldn't all people do this particular thing), he'd started listening very, very thoroughly.

The next time they'd had sex was the first time Usagi came. It had felt like the best accomplishment of his life.

And he'd listened even harder.

"He totally, totally forgot the setting, you know? Didn't get it at all!" Minako had said that one time, running her finger across the rim of her wineglass creating a melodic sound over the noise of Edward's annual ball he'd taken them to once again and just as quickly regretted, especially considering the crowd of young men around their bistro table that had formed. "Foreplay doesn't start with touching. It starts with smelling incredible – freshly showered, clean shampoo smell. It starts with a smart look and sexy banter, and _really good lighting_. Ya know, _dimmed_ , give a girl the chance to imagine that _maybe_ he can't see that flaw she feels uncomfortable about that you'd never see. Then flirt her pants off and that _better_ be soft and sexy sheets on your bed, and your girl will get the horn even before you lay a single finger on her."

After that day he'd been asked for Minako's number almost in every single of his classes, and he'd also ordered egyptian cotton sheets and new dimmable lamps, thank you very much.

Or that time, pretty early on, they'd all sat at Hikawa's steps eating ice pops and Yuichiro nearly choked when Minako arrived and didn't say hello, instead she ranted clear across the place,

"God, I swear if I have ONE MORE DATE with a guy who expects me to wantonly groan upon seeing his dick, I'm gonna spray paint this onto Tokyo Tower." She'd stopped, pressed one hand into her hip with an annoyed frown, and wiped her hand across an imaginary surface, eyes following. "PORN LIES. TOUCH A CLIT."

Of course, he'd 'touched a clit' before that. Of _course_. But he would lie if he didn't admit he'd been pretty embarrassed that night when he was researching that even as a medical student, he had never been taught how _big_ an organ the clitoris actually _was_. And in how many different ways one could stimulate it.

Usagi had been a very, very willing test subject that and all the following nights, and he'd stopped just assuming what Usagi liked and had started asking.

Or that time they'd stood in line at the taiyaki stand at that one spring festival in Ikebukuro, and Minako had almost the entire queue around them flushed bright red in seconds, including him and _definitely_ poor Shingo, who'd at that point visibly started regretting coming along.

"Like those dudes that think sex is over once they came? Never ever again, bye bye, off you go. Out the window, for all I care. I mean, it's the absolute _lowest_ bar to clear," she'd said loudly to Usagi in front of them, fishing for a watermelon slice in her plastic cocktail flute with her little cocktail umbrella, and then trying to not let it drip onto her bright orange patterned yukata. "Like, c'mon, be at least a little invested in your partner's pleasure? And don't expect a fucking medal? Newsflash, it's common decency to see that your current sex partner is getting off, too."

Conversations like these, even while he was secretly endlessly thankful for them, had often turned him into an anxious mess for days on end – like wondering what Usagi contributed to these conversations when he _wasn't_ there with her, and if _he_ managed to clear all the bars.

He really tried really, _really_ hard to clear all the bars, he really did.

Or if there were fantasies or concerns that she shared with the girls but not with him… Not that he would blame her for it in the least bit. Her sexuality was something he got to share, but that didn't mean he was entitled to be the only person who heard about it, or even the first. He knew that. Besides, the very fact that he spent so much time mutely worrying about these things was proof enough he had some concerns he wasn't sharing with her either.

But he was still worried. He just… He wanted to be really, really good for her.

Needless to say, he gradually went a little easier on the penetration following about a week after that newest conversation (with the delay just to be not _too_ suspicious.)

After all, it was quite seldom that Minako's 'tips' _didn't_ hit the mark…

Like the massage thing…

Previously to that particular conversation, he'd already been able to give at least a half decent massage. He'd already long been the master of foot massages practically since the day she'd gotten those scars via Nehelenia on his behalf, and performed them all the time. And he'd massaged her back for weeks on end when Usagi was writing her final exams. Had looked up face massages when she had that spell of headaches for months after Galaxia. And he'd already long loved the way she'd mewl when he worked out a kink or touched an obviously particularly enjoyable spot. But...

He knew he'd taken that particular Minako-advice to absurd heights, that he was completely overdoing it. Plus, he really could have just booked a course, but that would have meant either practicing massages on a stranger (oh, oh, _no_ way) or opening up to what he was doing and asking Usagi to join him for a class. So instead, being the superhero evil-and-crimefighting coward that he was, he'd gotten a bunch of books and bought a ton more of those he couldn't get from the library, and studied overtly complicated descriptions of anything from Thai Massage to Reflexology and secretly practiced on Usagi.

But it had all been worth it when he'd started hearing these gasps.

Like when he'd ask her to hold on to his hands with a hoarse whisper to the shell of her ear when he was buried deep within her from behind, and then pull her arms back, arching her over abruptly and thrusting her chest out while popping all the kinks out of her shoulders all at once – all while he was filling her up and going harder and deeper with every thrust and this delicious angle… 'Bend her over when you bend her over'; he'd mastered that and brought it to new heights and when her eyes would widen in that mesmerizing, addicting way, and she'd then _shout_ when she came, he was so stupidly proud it was ridiculous.

No one was asking him to do this, no. In fact, he'd be mortified if anyone found out the lengths that he was willing to go. But trying to find out ALL the ways he could make her sound, _all_ the ways he could make her whimper and gasp and come on him, was like a drug of almost scientific curiosity and damn he was willing to put in the work.

He was pretty sure there wasn't a single physiotherapist on the planet that would be able to massage Usagi better than he could nowadays. And it _really_ made a difference during sex, knowing all her pressure points, all the ways he could make her untense with just a flick of his fingers.

And so… this one was worth a try, too.

Even if this one was kind of a painful one.

It was one thing to make it a habit to curl his fingers inside of her occasionally or to stroke slowly behind her knees and across the wrinkles on the inside of her wrists or to spread her buttcheeks apart a little when… …But he really _liked_ being inside of her.

Nevertheless, gradually less cock it was, then.

He'd figured he was probably overdoing it a little again when one afternoon, about four weeks later, during tea at one of those fancy places Rei liked, Minako was giving him 'I see what you're doing'-eyes over sencha and wagashi.

Oh _god_ no.

So, terrified he was doing it wrong, he decided to put in all the stops that night.

He sent Usagi to get snacks at the conbini around the corner and sprinted up ahead, and while she was left alone over the agonizing and lengthy choice between strawberry shortcake and lemon sponge rolls in Family Mart, he'd dimmed all the lights, lit vanilla scented candles on his windowsill beside the bed, dressed his bed in every large towel that he owned, and stripped down to his underwear.

Massage. Back to what works.

She arrived with a wide smile and five boxed slices because she couldn't decide and a turn of her own key (which he still didn't understand why it made her so happy even years after the fact), and then stopped rooted and gaping on his green rug when she spotted the set-up and him, sitting on the bed with crossed legs and the simple brown apothecary bottle filled with her favorite shea and orange blossom massage oil concoction.

She stood opening her mouth and closing it again, biting her lip in that way he would always be able to read – hesitant but wanting, fighting an internal, invisible debate.

"You don't have to do this, Mamo-chan," she finally settled on, but slowly padded towards him, so close he had to crane his neck for once.

"I want to," he whispered easily.

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and he slowly uncrossed his legs and bent forward to settle the bottle of massage oil next to the bed, then took the plastic bag from her strong grip on it and placed it next to it.

When he met her eyes again, steady and silent and waiting, the dim lighting casting shadows across her, she was already breathing harder.

She liked seeing him half naked like this. _That_ was something that hadn't been all that hard to learn. And he drank up the visible effect he had on her greedily; her dilated pupils, the way her chest lifted a little higher as she breathed more deeply, the way her eyes kept straying down to the V-shape formed by his abdomen and hip bones, protruding from his boxer briefs, as well as the slightly hollowed, convex dip of his inner thighs as he spread them around her.

He spread his thighs and it was like magnetism – she stepped into the space between his legs as if pulled there, and his hands stroked slowly up her tights and underneath her skirt, his fingers gliding up the smooth fabric easily, and he could see all the debate had left her eyes.

Yet he stilled at the waistband of her soft, sheer black pantyhose, his hands hovering at her waist beneath her impossibly soft, loose and warm, knitted dress and waited.

He didn't have to wait for long. Her eyes flashed as if something imploded in her and her own hands flew beneath her dress and lift it up, exposing simple, shadowed, rust colored cotton that shone under the dim, warm light and against her creamy, milky skin, and he moaned a little and leant forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss against her elongating, arching ribcage, as she stretched to lift her woolen dress over her head, and he pushed his hands into her tights and dragged them slowly, slowly down her hips.

By the time her dress hit the floor he'd peeled the sheer fabric halfway down her glorious thighs with a reverent sigh, and moved from his perch on the edge of his bed to his knees in one single, fluid movement to complete his task devotedly.

One lifted, perfect calf after the other and she was stepping out of the miniscule scrap of pooled fabric that he threw in the general direction of her dress, holding one calf slightly aloft still as he spread it to the side, opening her up, and pressed another smacking, heated kiss to the inside of her thigh. It had the effect he'd aimed for – a shiver that left goosebumps in its wake that he could only smirk at, and he made sure to brush her panties with his nose as he rose from his perch on his knees and slowly walked around her.

When he'd moved behind her, so close that they touched, so close she could feel his erection through the cotton fabric of his own underwear at the small of her back and she arched it against him in almost automatic reaction, he reveled in the way she slightly shivered when he stroked his hands ever so slowly and softly up both sides of her hypersensitive throat, lifting her hair, then stroked back down and back to her shoulder blades and lower. Licked his lips at the small noise she made when his fingers moved beneath her bra straps and back out, tracing the fabric slowly down to the clasp at the middle of her back. Moved his cheek against her temple and watched with a shiver of his own how, when he undid the clasp of the soft, non-wired cotton bra and stroked it off of her, her nipples hardened as they were exposed to the air, even though he had just brushed the sides of her breasts ever barely with his knuckles.

She inhaled through her nose and exhaled audibly through her puckered mouth, and he _knew_ she was turned on and it traveled straight to his cock.

How easy it would be. How easy it would be to wound his arm around her collarbone and take out his cock and wedge her panties aside and slip it between those plump, pretty cheeks of her ass to stroke it along her folds and then bend her over his bed and pound her into that mattress until she came. And god, now that he wasn't supposed to, he didn't want anything more.

He puffed a breath out that stirred the hair of her fringe and instead slipped his hands into her panties and squeezed both buttcheeks almost desperately before he grabbed hold of the fabric and nudged it down her thighs just that little bit until they fell.

Usagi's little sigh, the way she bared her neck and snuggled her face against his as she bit her lip was the kind of sight he wanted to see forever, and he lifted one hand to brush it up her throat and chin and inhaled the scent of her hair as he held her to him.

"Lie down," he breathed down her neck, enjoying the thrill of the shiver it elicited from her once more.

She nodded breathlessly, excited, and crawled onto the toweled bed in a way that stuck her ass out and once again his cock throbbed painfully because he wanted to rip off his underwear and fuck her silly and he couldn't, and the thought of sitting on her ass and not ultimately slipping into her suddenly seemed an impossible task and so he almost shouted his, "Wait!"

She stopped immediately looked over her shoulder in that way with those half-lidded, expectant eyes that almost ended him right there, and he had to clear his throat.

"Sit instead. On your knees," he said. Soft and questioning and no more than a whisper, but without taking her eyes off him, she lowered her pretty, pretty, pink bum slowly onto her heels.

Squeezing his eyes shut ever so briefly, he settled in behind her, his own knees encasing her form and he regretted the position again immediately, and scooted back just ever so slightly because if she just so much as wriggled her toes they would brush against his crotch. With jerky movements he resettled and moved to his knees behind her, too, instead, and, trying to breathe normally, he bent over and reached for the brown glass bottle beside the bed.

Usually he'd start with her legs (because he really, really loved her legs) and work his hands firmly down her calves, wrapping his long fingers around the long, graceful limbs completely and pulling and pushing firmly until she moaned, but in this position, he had to start with her arms instead.

He was weirdly nervous, unscrewing the rubber topper off the vintage bottle, dipping oil into one hand. Suddenly everything felt loud. The creak of his mattress as he moved, the gulping sound of the oil moving in the bottle as he tipped it over, the high, pattering sound of his fingernails against the glass. The wood of his floors clanked a bit when he placed the open bottle back down, and the sound of the oil rubbing, swishing, almost whispering across his palms as he rubbed them together to warm it up sounded almost foreign he was so conscious of the sound.

The sound stayed, became just a little calmer, when he rubbed his hands firmly into the crooks between her shoulders and her collarbone first, then squeezed and rubbed them down her arms. It was joined by the sound of her sudden, deep inhale and slow exhale, the huff of breath that was almost a moan when he rubbed down all the way to her hands with firm pressure.

He repeated the action from time to time, retrieving the bottle for more oil – just so much that it would be absorbed by her skin easily and slip so beautifully, and he quickly found his rhythm. His chest swelled over the fact that he had her lick her lips and sigh softly and squirm in minutes, rubbing and kneading and squeezing her smooth skin firmly, now even smoother with the oil and smelling so very pleasantly. She moaned appreciatively when his thumbs rubbed into the kinks between her shoulder blades, pinching them, rolling them, smoothing them out, mewled in that sweet, addicting way when his hands rubbed up her neck to the back of her head, kneading and rotating until it all went slack in his hands, sighed deeply when he pulled at her fingers, relaxing all her joints one by one, bit her lip when he rubbed with firm pressure from the small of her back and around her hips and down her inner thighs when she immediately spread her knees for him and his palms.

The squish of his oily hands on her skin and her quiet mewls the only sound between them, he greedily leaned closer, hovering so he wouldn't miss a single sigh, rising over her on his knees and changing the angles and the way his bare chest occasionally brushed against her naked back – she shuddered every time that happened.

He couldn't get enough, though. Hearing her approval in those soft sounds was all he really ever wanted, and it was downright silly how much it turned him on, how much it reassured him.

Shifting, he moved back into his original position and bit his own lip when his knees locked around her and his erection pressed against her butt, and his hands wandered in slow, deliberate, pressing motions around to her midriff, rubbing just below her breast and lifting to stroke in softer, gentler motions.

In just a few stroked he had her collapsed in his arms, his lips at her throat and then his whole face in the crook of her neck and he was breathing harshly down her front as his slick, oily fingers brushed the sensative skin folds underneath her breasts only to rub his palms back down her belly in firm strokes and back to her inner thighs and the junction of her legs just ever so slightly without downright touching her sex.

She squirmed in his arms, one arm lifting straight up and back around her to fly into his hair, gripping it tightly at the back of his head and he moaned down her neck, and with the next squirm she lifted her butt off her heels and back against him.

She ended up in his lap in a position that was almost painful and he leaned a little further back but she followed, moaning., her slick back arching and rubbing against his chest and his breathing grew labored as she pressed back against his erection, and he was starting to worry, because nothing sounded sweeter to him at this moment than the nagging voice in the back of his mind that urged him to just get rid of his underwear and let her squirm until he just naturally slipped inside.

To be fair, this really wouldn't be so agonizing at all if he didn't feel like what he wanted was forbidden.

Instead, he rubbed one hand back up her abdomen and belly and ribs, and she arched her back to fill his hands and keened when this time, he didn't stop at the underside of her breast but rubbed the oil into the soft, creamy mound.

" _Mamo-chan,_ " she finally begged in that broken voice that caused him to twitch against her butt, when his hand left her front abruptly. But it returned with the open bottle and this time, he let the oil drip freely and cold from the glass and let it drip in slow droplets directly onto one nipple first, the other next, and two more from the dip between her collarbones to slide like raindrops down between her heaving chest.

Her moan was low and deep when both hands returned to her body, one moving slick, slick, slick across her breasts, the other between her legs.

Firm, slow, pulling, kneading in the way he'd learned from her, his palm brushing her nipple and his fingers running in that weird mix of strong and gentle and tender and slick and firm all at once along her oily flesh and he rubbed his cheek against her, panting right along with an open mouth, when she let her head lull back into the crook of his neck, baring her throat and gasping at the ceiling while he looked down her body and his hands on her pink breasts. His other hand, meanwhile, stroked his middle finger between her lips and found her wet and slick and ready, and kept stroking softly, up and down, up and down, not quite touching her clit but almost, even as she moved her pelvis to urge him for something deeper. His lips smacked loudly as he wetted them, but even when his erection throbbed painfully against her writhing ass, he managed to not move his hips a fraction.

He sighed in that pained, aroused way, when her sounds turned into soft, frustrated growls and her squirms lifted her ass and rubbed against his boxer briefs harshly. And even when he couldn't keep from hissing down her neck, watching his hands stroke along her slit and chest, he didn't move his hips.

And then her hand snuck around to his underwear and he had to inhale sharply and squeeze his eyes shut, and he throbbed and _leaked_ against her palm, so painfully hard and no, he didn't move, not a bit, before he finally found the willpower to move his hand off her chest to her immediate protesting wine and slapped her hand away. Yet, he didn't move back either, when she pressed her ass back against his cock insistently.

"Mamo-chan," she half-groaned, half-groaned.

"This is about you," he whispered in her ear in a somewhat apologetic voice, and finally flicked his finger across her clit, his other hand returning to the underside of her breast.

"What if I want it?" she panted harshly.

He said nothing, but swirled two fingers around her clit and gobbled up her gasp.

But she trembled, full body, when his fingers pulled at one nipple firmly, and her hips moved right off the bed and heavily back into his lap.

With a harsh exhale, his hand reached back out. Not to the bottle this time, but the small tube beside it, and the sound this time was the soft click of a plastic flab and a squeeze, and from the way she tensed she _knew_ what it was. He couldn't keep the smirk off his lips, revelling like a glutton in the fact he'd managed to condition her to a bloody sound, make her lick her lips to just the sound of lube being squeezed onto his fingers.

When his fingers returned to her sex they were coated in it, and when they softly stroked down her folds they made her already soaked lips even slicker, and he grinned too smugly at the way her mouth puckered into that tight 'o' and the way she exhaled, and the sweet, delicious, smacking sounds his fingers made against her vulva when he rubbed them in tight movements against the sensitive nerves at just the entrance of her vagina before moving back up to tightly swirl around her nub.

This time, though, when she frantically reached for him, he didn't have the willpower to deny her and grit his teeth stubbornly when she pulled his cock out of his boxers.

 _Don't move, don't move, don't move._

He didn't. _She_ did, though. And when her squirming became too much, and she pulled her weight onto her calves, stemming herself up to hover on his cock, he managed, he didn't move a single bit except for his wrists and fingers, circling her clit with oiled fingers in tight, fast circles that drove her into a writhing, panting mess under his hands.

If he could just make her _come_ like this before she—

He groaned, eyes widening, when she grabbed his cock and positioned it at her entrance, but when she moved to lower himself on him (shit please _yes_ ), he instead pulled her whole body down on him and collapsed on the mattress. His cock was still at her hole, but this angle made it harder for her, her back flush against his chest, imprisoned on top of him by his hands on her clit and her ribcage.

She whined, loudly and prolonged, even when she writhed on top of him and bucked against his hand and his jumping, throbbing cock—

But then her walls contracted and he temporarily lost the battle because they fluttered against the tip of his cock that touched her still and it was just one tiny, involuntary, buck of slip-up but he pushed in. Just the tip, just barely, but they both cried out and she clenched hard around him as if to hold him prisoner, squeezing her pelvic floor as hard as she could or so it seemed, and he almost came on the spot with just his head barely inside of her.

He didn't. He managed. He didn't pull out, but he stilled his hips, grit his teeth, breathed harshly through his mouth against her temple, her hair tickling his face as he watched her come undone as he increased the speed of his fingers swirling harshly around and around her clit.

He could do this. He could.

Her thighs fell open wider against his knees and her back arched off his chest, the back of her head digging into his collarbone and he let his own head fall back against the mattress and the towels on it, his wrist starting to cramp in their jerky movements, his other hand at her hip in a deathgrip to keep her from bouncing on his cock, to keep her from doing what he _really_ , _really_ wanted her to do, and he squeezed his eyes shut and audibly cursed at the ceiling.

She squirmed harder, he held tighter. The result were shallow, rubbing motions against his tip as it slipped around the slick flesh and rubbed against her entrance but never thrusting fully in because he stubbornly pressed his own ass firmly into the mattress and managed to hold her firmly aloft by his hands on her hips and her clit.

And then she shouted at him and it was pretty much over.

"Oh _god, I swear_ fucking _MOVE,_ Mamo-cha—"

With one buck of his hips he slammed inside of her, deep, deep, deep, and she _keened_. But his fingers moved even quicker and he found his resolve even when he groaned harshly and just _stayed_ there.

It was an amazing feeling, to be honest. The way her walls frantically clenched and squeezed at him, the way she bucked to make him move, the slick, miniscule slip of her vagina against his cock as she contracted her pelvic muscles to expel him or drag him deeper inside or both and for a second he marveled at the fact that he'd never felt this before in this way, in all their years together like this.

She growled and moved her hips even when his hold around her was so so tight and her wriggle moved him in her just that _tiny_ little bit, but his fingers kept swirling and suddenly she went slack in his arms, all muscled tensed and hard and gummy all at once, and the delicious sensation of filling her to the brim was just too much, he was so fucking close when she started to twitch on top of him and her walls clenched even harder, pushing him out, and her mouth went slack and her head hit his chest and he allowed himself one single thrust back inside her that made her whimper as he rubbed her startingly intense orgasm out, fast and tight and firm around her clit.

He was painfully, _achingly_ hard and shaking with need when she unravelled on his chest, bonelessly collapsing, breathing returning to normal slowly and harshly, and when she tilted her head up to where he was curled around her, she looked at him like he was her world and it made him whimper and his cock quiver in her pitifully.

His hands flew in a tight grip to her hips and he was halfway through flipping her onto her stomach and fucking her into those bloody towels, when he caught himself and wrenched his throbbing cock out of her and his throat created the most pitiful whine he'd ever made.

"No! Mamo-chan, you—" she started in protest, turning, but he got up with her still on him and moved his hands underneath her knees and back to lift her clean of the best and her protest changed into utter confusion.

"Mamo-chan, what the _hell_ —"

His cock was so hard it _hurt_ , and it painfully bopped as he all but ran them into his bathroom, deposited her on her feet in the shower and turned the handle until hot water cascaded around them, drenching them.

Usagi looked at him as if he'd gone insane.

But her _hair_ , getting wetter and wetter, and the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks as she blinked at him in utter bewilderment—

He made that same pitiful noise again, curled in on himself and dropped his forehead on her shoulder as he grabbed his cock and started rubbing himself in frantic, aggressively fast and firm strokes, his lips wrapping helplessly against her skin in a silent scream.

But her soft, tender hands on his cheek made him still and squeeze his cock in startlement as she drew her face away from her shoulder so she could look at him in stern, gentle reprimand.

" _Mamo-chan_." Her voice was almost scolding, and he peered at her lost and wound-so-tightly and oh so desperately.

He was close. So, so very close. SO close he could taste it on his tongue, and yet he obediently stilled his hand at her tone, his cheeks cupped by her hands, the water pittering around them both, slicking her hair so prettily against her naked body.

"I'm going to blunt here," she said with a strong voice and a little squish of his cheeks by her hands and he swallowed.

"This is _endlessly_ hot," she said with a stern frown that absolutely contradicted her sentiment and then flicked her eyes down at his cock and his hand. "Especially _this_. Seeing you like this. _But_."

Her eyebrows furrowed even harder and she gave him _the look_. (And he hated a little that his overstimulated, weeping cock reacted forcefully to it, jumping as if to say hi, yes, please, more.)

She said the following words as if she couldn't believe she had to spell it out for him, pronouncing every word clearly and accompanying them with her heavy, heavy gaze.

"I love your dick," she said, and it twitched in his hand as if to say, ' _yeah_ , I love you, _too'_ , even when he swallowed, his mouth dry under the spray of the shower. "And I love it when your dick is _in me_. Do you hear me?"

He exhaled in sweet, beautiful relief and sacked a little against her, but then she continued talking.

"Don't listen to every little thing Minako says, ok?" she said with a heavy frown, shaking his cheeks just that little bit in vehemence.

Oh god. Oh, shit.

And just like that, his heart thundered in embarrassment at being caught (because of _course_ Usagi would see what he was doing, how could she _not_ ), and he flushed hot and fierce and his cock shriveled in his hands at once.

He let it go as if burned and it plopped sad and flaccid with a little bounce back down against his balls with a wet little slap.

His blood relocated hot and warm and fast into his face and neck and ears. Her eyes changed their hue abruptly into surprised and concerned, as if this was not the kind of reaction she had anticipated at all, and she blinked in confusion once more, even when he brought his own hands up to slip hers from his face and curl them with his as he studied the floor of his shower and the way the water pelted off of it.

"Didn't… don't you like it?" he asked meekly, embarrassed.

"What?!" she bellowed, alarmed. "No, of course I do!"

He frowned at the floor.

Her hands grabbed at his, kneading them together and he swallowed his pride and met her eyes.

"Mamo-chan," she started, eyes swimming in concern and something else. "I came like really really damn hard right there," she implored, and he licked his lips. "Like, so delicious I want to bottle it up and savour it and keep it forever, ok?"

He inhaled and frowned some more.

Usagi tilted her head, bouncing onto her toes a little and he grabbed her hands a little harder, because he might be embarrassed to the bone right now, but this was still Usagi, and a wet shower floor, and he wanted to be prepared if she fell.

"I'm just saying you really don't need to do this. I mean it…" she said slowly.

He nodded meekly. Water dripped from his hair and onto her.

Apparently not a sufficient reaction from him; she continued with that lowered brow.

"Don't get me wrong," she said, and stroked her thumb against his hand. "I LOVE the fact you're so eager to try everything out directly, but this is… No." She shook her head and found his eyes. "Mamo-chan, this isn't a competition, and this isn't just about me enjoying myself and you worrying."

He met her gaze but said nothing and that still wasn't the right reaction because she frowned harder and shook her head at him, as if willing him to understand something that should be completely obvious.

"And… and…" she started, voice a little higher, a littler quicker, "that's not even what Minako MEANT. She didn't say it's UNimportant. She just said it's not the most important thing! To not worry about it! But you're now very much worrying about it!"

He was. He couldn't deny that.

"Mamo-chan?" Her voice dropped into a plea, with eyes that said, 'please talk to me'.

His voice croaked and shook when he finally answered. "I want to clear all the bars..."

Usagi almost recoiled in confusion. All the question marks in her gaze as she spat out a bewildered "What?"

He shrugged awkwardly, flushing even harder.

"Bars?" she repeated. "What even are you talking about?!"

He sighed hard. The rush of the water made everything sound a little off, and he curled his hand into hers where she was still stroking it and watched the water dribble onto both their hands.

"I want you to enjoy yourself with me," he eventually admitted to their hands. "I don't want to be one of those guys you talk about who only think about their own pleasure..."

He heard a soft little gasp and then her hand was gone and almost slapped against his cheek as she reached to cradle it again.

"Mamo-chan!" Sorrow and alarm and a little bit of 'aww' in that voice now and he cringed.

"But… but…" The second hand came up around his cheek, again, too. "You _aren't_ ," she implored. "If anything, you're the _opposite_. You care more about mine than yours... you're WONDERFUL, you hear me? Don't worry!"

He was a big ball of embarrassed already, so it didn't surprise him how embarrassed he felt over the fact how _good_ that felt to hear.

"I'm very content with what I have, Mamo-chan." She stroked his cheek. "Let me give back, ok? This is a two-way street!"

He frowned again – he was the one confused this time and she shrugged her shoulders, a little blush coloring her cheeks now, too.

"You don't get to hear even a _quarter_ of the things Minako says," Usagi said with a sheepish cringe. "I'm doing all sorts of things too that she keeps going on about. Or I _would_ if you'd _let_ me half the time."

 _Oh_.

Her wet, small hand slipped from his left cheek and to the nape of his neck, curling oh so pleasantly into his wet hair and the sensation curled back into his belly.

She licked her lips and lifted her eyes in that half-suggestive, half-coy, all-adorable way. "I'd like you to relax once in a while and just… enjoy, you know?"

He licked his lips too, his voice coming out a little huskier once more. "I do enjoy you!" he protested.

"I know, I know!" she said. "Just…"

And with that, she slipped fully onto the tips of her toes, tugged at his hair, and then brushed her lips slowly, sensually against his when he came down to meet her in the middle. It elicited a moan from him immediately, and she whispered directly into his mouth.

"Just… enjoy, ok?"

He exhaled against her lips. His small '…ok,' barely audible.

And then she slipped onto her knees and his cock remembered it was really, really frustrated before. It hardened slightly back up in anticipation before her lips ever touched him. She just…. In the _shower_ … Her hair _wet_ and the water cascading around her and the way she _looked up at him_ , and his cock twitched as if it wanted to spare her the trouble and meet her lips halfway.

And when she licked her lips, and her mouth wrapped around him and her tongue flicked out against the slit in his glans in that way that made his breath stutter always, and she grabbed his hands to place them on her head and hair, he briefly wondered if these were things on _her_ list and he'd just never thought about it before…

The thought, and _all_ thought, was gone when he choked on his own saliva as she grazed her teeth against the sensitive veins that ran down his shaft and pressed her finger into the ridged skin just beneath his scrotum and _shit_.

Too good. Too fast. Nope.

He yanked her back up.

Her eyes were wide when he reached behind her to turn the water off. "What? Did I do something wrong?"

But he just sharply shook his head and bent back to reach around her knees once more.

"Nope, not at all," he said.

And, dripping wet all over his hardwood floors, he lifted her back up and carried her back to bed.

Good thing his bed was still completely covered in towels.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked in his arms.

She bounced off the mattress when he threw her on it.

"Putting my dick in you, Usako."

"Oh," she breathed. And her voice was such pure, saccharine delight that he had to laugh.

And god, pounding into her after he'd refrained from pretty much even going _in_ for _three weeks_? He was pretty sure it had never felt this good.

* * *

 _So this one was quite close to my heart – as a psychologist with their main field of study in sex research, I'm often in the position to dish out 'tips' to people who struggle in their sexuality, and I get passionate and opinionated about seemingly small things within the field often. In the end tho, it's often important to remember that sexuality is not another thing to perfect and master and check off – yes, it can be so, so beneficial to your own experience of pleasure and your partner's, as well as to close the orgasm gap, to be mindful of a few things one can improve for the sake of their partner, and to make your partner's pleasure an important, mutual prerogative in your sex life. However, in the end, if you come, and your partner comes, and if you're both happy and connected and on the same page (also regardless of if you come or not!), you don't need to strive for 'more', or 'different'. This isn't a race – it's a place of rest and pleasure and connection and savouring each other. If you feel adventurous, that's nice, there's thousands of things you can try out and Minako is mentioning (or Mamoru is reporting) only very few, selected, simple, female-centered suggetions; but if you don't, that's just as valid, and as long as you and your sexual partners are happy and safe, then everything is fine with you – and any adventurous additions into your sex life are just simply a bonus you can but don't have to apply._

 _There is no pressure supposed to be in this game, only pleasure._

 _Anyway, I wish you and your sex lives very, very well! If you liked this story, or any of the other smutember stories in our (and other) fandom(s), please consider leaving them a review. That, as well, is not anything you HAVE to do, of course, especially given the nature of the topic that can be quite sensitive for people for a number of very valid reasons. However, if you want to support the writing of such sex positive free content written by a largely female writer-base for a largely female reader-base, please consider cheering them on and motivate them to write such content also outside of events such as smutember. If you find me on tumblr (under the same penname), I've reblogged and compiled lists of all smutember Sailor Moon content on my blog – you can find it under the hashtags #smutember2019, #smutember usamamo fandom corner, #smutember sailor moon fandom. There's some real gems hidden in there, and if you find something you really enjoyed, and want there to be more content like that, please consider dropping them a few lines to validate them in that endeavor! You're going to make their day, I promise, even months, months, months after smutember is done!_

 _Reviews are love!_


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